


Ein Kollektiv

by atrocityexhibitions



Series: Vs. The End Of The World: An Ich Will AU [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: AU: Ich Will, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Blood and Injury, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashback, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Guns, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Now kith, Organized Crime, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence, Whump, be gay do crimes, i mean like almost excessive whump, till is kind of a dick sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrocityexhibitions/pseuds/atrocityexhibitions
Summary: 15 Years prior to the end of the world and Till makes a risky decision that puts one of the crew in grave danger.
Relationships: Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider, Richard Kruspe/Original Male Character(s), Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Vs. The End Of The World: An Ich Will AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651804
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read the main story to understand this one, really. It's just a flashback that got out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT so, I had intended to stick this as a flashback in the main story but it got long, and it got angsty and it turned into a whole *thing* so it's going up as a separate story in the series. I might well write more flashbacks that have some relevance to the main story in the future. I just felt like expanding on some of the stuff referenced in the main thing so there we go. This is happening.

**Fifteen Years Earlier**

“Really? An insurance job?” Schneider groaned, kicking his heavy boots against the desk beneath him rhythmically with his heel. “I mean, we better be making a shitload of cash to be lowering ourselves to this shit.”

“We're not _lowering ourselves_ to anything. It's how we made half our cash in the beginning. You need to learn a little humility, Doom.” Till said, playfully shoving at his arm. “You're getting too big for your boots. Besides, this property is worth _millions_. It'll be worth your while, I promise.”

“You always say that,” Schneider grumbled, and Olli snorted. Schneider was like this ball of angry energy, sliding between mildly disgruntled to manic rage. The man was _perpetually_ annoyed by something, and whilst that in itself probably should be annoying, Olli ended up finding it hilarious and quite often found ways to rile him up because the ensuing rants were _spectacularly_ funny. Not that it was hard to find these ways when something as simple as the weather would set him off. It was like hanging around with the biggest asshole cat in the world, constantly hissing and swiping at anyone who dared get anywhere near.

“And _you_ always end up agreeing to it anyway,” Paul noted, fastening his tie as he got ready to head out to one of the bars the crew owned (and used to launder money) in the area. They'd received an anonymous tip that one of the managers had been skimming and of course that just wouldn't do. He tutted, turning away to hide the broad smirk forming on his face. “All mouth and no trousers, Doomie.”

“Fuck you, _Heiko_. I'm no mouth and _all trousers_.” Schneider scowled, clearly speaking without thinking it through, the little rage barometer in his brain going up, up, up...

“That doesn't even make any _sense_!” Olli was on the verge of hysterics, throwing his hands up. “You are definitely _not_ 'no mouth'. In any sense.”

“You can go fuck yourself too, _Spargaltarzan!_ ” He hissed, and Olli doubled over with laughter.

“Jesus, can someone take him for a walk before he ends up biting someone?” Till chuckled, “I mean, have you tried taking something for that anger of yours? Pills? Therapy?”

“Oh, come on. Where would we get free entertainment from, then?” Paul asked with a grin, checking the chamber of his Glock before tucking it into the holster on the inside of his well-tailored black jacket. Most of the time he'd rather have been kicking around in some eclectic outfit he'd cobbled together from thrift store finds but when it came to the _job_ , he was all business. He adjusted his sleeves and swiped away a speck of dust. “Okay, I'm out. Time to deal with this fuckwit.”

“Don't make too much of a mess.” Till advised, and Paul raised an eyebrow. “A little mess. Just not too much.” He made a pinching motion with his fingers and the shorter man smirked before leaving the office.

“Where's Flake?” Richard asked from the couch he'd been lounging on, half-listening to the conversation and half invested in a terribly trashy gossip magazine that nobody would admit to buying. Nearly everyone was convinced Richard had bought it himself and then denied it when he was accused.

“He's driven two hours out to pick up some plastic tanks. There's a shop that sells them two miles away but these ones are cheaper so obviously, that's totally worth it.” Till scoffed, opening the mini-fridge behind his desk and grabbing four beers, handing one to Olli and Schneider before  
grabbing the back of Richard's shirt and sliding the ice-cold bottle down the neck hole.

“Ach, you fucker.” Richard gasped, scrabbling to reach the bottle and get it away from his skin. He slid it out from under the hem of his shirt and shuddered.

“For dissolving the bodies, mm?” Olli joked. Mostly.

“I asked him what he needed them for, and he said 'there's a lot of things you might need plastic tanks for.' so you could be right, I don't know.” Till shrugged, sitting at his desk and putting his feet up. “Deciding to become a bootlegger could be just as likely.”

“I'm telling you, man. That guy's got a bigger body count than all of us put together.” Schneider insisted, taking a slug of beer. “I heard rumours before I started working here.”

“And that's just how he likes it.” Till chuckled, “Man's somehow become a legend without lifting a finger. I tell you, I've seen men look me in the eye and not flinch – Flake walks into a room and they're offering you their firstborn just to get away in one piece. It's really funny.”

“I heard one time, he burned some guy's eyes out with acid.” Schneider grimaced. “That's brutal. Even for me.”

“To be fair to him, that was an accident.” Till pointed knowledgeably.

“Jesus Christ.” He laughed, draining the last of his drink before punching Olli's arm. “Come on. You can buy me a proper drink down the street.”

“Oh, can I?” Olli scoffed, deciding in which case he should probably drink a bit quicker. “I don't get a say in this, no?”

“Not at all.” Schneider hopped off the table and pulled his jacket on. Looking over at Till and Richard, he nodded his head. “You coming?”

“Nah, not me. Got things to do.” Till shook his head, although from the way he was sitting it didn't look like he was in a rush to get anything done at all.

“I'm probably just gonna head home.” Richard shrugged and Schneider dutifully ignored the fact that he looked over at Till before giving an answer.

“Alright, you pair of lightweights, don't say you weren't invited.” He said sniffily, opening the door and cocking his head towards it, pointing at Olli. “Come on. Let's get hammered.”

“Why is it never a quiet night out with you?” Olli groaned, ever the long-suffering companion, and made for the door.

“Now you owe me two drinks for complaining,” Schneider informed him on the way out.

“I don't know why they don't just bang already,” Richard said when the door had closed, head back in his magazine.

“Because they skipped the sex and went straight to being an old married couple,” Till smirked.

“How terribly boring of them,” Richard said, shooting Till a look from over the back of the sofa.

“Don't give me that look.” Till warned, “I know that look.”

“You know nothing,” Richard smirked, pointedly returning his attention back to his magazine. Just as he anticipated, Till crossed the room to lock the office door and then back to the sofa, tugging the magazine out of his hands. “I was reading that.” He informed him flatly.

Till leaned down, finding space for his knees either side of Richard's hips, ignoring the pain that shot through his right one when he did it. His fingers curled into his shirt and he pulled him forwards into a slow, heated kiss with little protest from the man underneath him.

“I can probably find you something more interesting to do,” Till mumbled, and Richard made a small noise of agreement as his hand slid around the back of his neck.

* * *

“ _Oh, fucking hell_ ” Olli groaned, his head starting to pound the second he opened his eyes, forcing him to shield them with his hands. He wondered why a night out with Schneider never ended without a hangover sent from the very bowels of hell. Slowly, he came to realise that he wasn't wearing any clothes, and there was a very definite weight in the bed next to him. He squinted and thought hard for a moment, trying to piece together the events of the night before. Glancing down, he spotted a pair of skinny, white, hairy legs poking out of the other end of the duvet wearing a pair of very familiar military-style boots. “Uhhh....” He blinked, his hungover mind not entirely sure what to do with that piece of information.

A small groan could be heard from underneath the bedding.

“Schneider?” Olli asked cautiously, fragmented flashbacks slowly starting to jog his memory. _Well._ he thought. _That happened._ and strangely he was more fine with it than he thought he'd be.

“We'll never speak of this again,” Schneider confirmed, still not showing his face.

“Fair enough,” Olli smirked, then watched the duvet move as a hand slowly ran up his side and came to rest on his firm torso, followed by the rest of Schneider sliding closer and pressing his lips to his chest, causing him to shudder slightly.

“Okay, in an hour, we'll never speak of this again.”

“Deal.” Olli confirmed as Schneider crawled on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I wussed out on the sex scenes here but a) Pretty sure I suck at them and b) This got long as it is. There is one later in the story that's more relevant to the plot but eh...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys celebrate a job well done, Till has an unexpected visitor and Richard realises that leaving the party early can have consequences.

“A toast, boys! Another one in the bag.”

A chorus of cheers rose up from the table followed by the sound of various drinks clanking together. Schneider leaned heavily on Olli's shoulder and slouched lazily in his seat, swigging from a bottle of champagne.

“So much for taking it easy tonight.,” Olli smirked, sipping at his beer.

“Someone just left it lying around. It'd be rude not to drink it.”

“Of course, manners are always your first concern.”

“Mm.” He agreed, slurring against the neck of the bottle. “M'very polite man. S'why everyone's gran' ma loves me.”

“I'm not giving you a piggy-back ride home again.” Olli warned, and Schneider snorted, swaying a little in his seat.

“Yeah, you are.”

On the other side of the table, Till was counting out a large wad of notes under the table, a cigar hanging out of his mouth. He beckoned over one of the waitresses and asked for the same round of drinks again, handing her the entire stack of cash with a wink. She looked delighted at the size of the generous tip and practically skipped away to get their order.

“Feeling flush tonight, are we?” Richard asked, talking over Paul's head who was sat between them. The low throb of the bar's speakers forcing him to raise his voice just a little.

“Well between this job and the Insurance thing, we're having a pretty good month! I think we deserve to let our hair down a little, don't you?”

“Richard can't let his hair down, too much gunk,” Paul interjected, reaching over and messing up the carefully coiffed spikes on top of Richard's head.

“Hey!” Richard recoiled, putting his cigarette between his lips and carefully using both hands to make sure he hadn't done too much damage. “Speak for yourself, Captain Bowlcut!”

“Look, it's a choice I've made and I'm sticking to it.” Paul insisted, “And it's less maintenance than your whole fork-in-a-plug-socket thing.”

Till cackled and shook his head.

“Till!” A voice called out from behind him and he turned to be greeted by a tall blonde woman. She was, by anyone's standard, stunning, wearing a short black dress covered by a cropped leather biker-style jacket.

“Sabine!” He bellowed and got to his feet. They hugged like old friends, and he offered her a kiss on each cheek. “Long time no see!”

They chatted excitedly and Richard watched them for a moment, then nudged Paul's side. “Who's that?”

“Ah, the ex.” He said simply, with no idea of Richard's motives for asking. “Well. I say _ex_. As close to one as he's got, I suppose.”

“Oh, alright.” Richard shrugged, putting a little too much effort into looking like he didn't really care.

“Why, you jealous?” Paul jokingly asked, poking his ribs and making him squirm slightly.

“Yes, absolutely.” He said flatly, pointing at his own face which stayed completely neutral, with credit to his acting skills. “Look at this jealous face.”

“I'm just heading to the lounge for a while.” Till interrupted, leaning over the seats so that he could be heard. “Little hard to hear in here. Tell Katya to send my drink through.”

“Fine,” Richard said, his voice a little too sharp. Till noticed but didn't mention it. “We'll see you later, then.”

“You're leaving me alone with him again?” Paul groaned, before leaning back against Richard playfully, the other man looping an arm around his shoulder. “Ugh. _Fine_.”

“He only says that so nobody finds out that I'm his favourite,” Richard said, resting his chin on Paul's shoulder and shooting Till a look that said that he _could_ , if he _wanted to_.

“I'll be back in a while.” Till rolled his eyes and Sabine took his arm as he escorted her out of the bar and towards the much more sedate lounge area on the other side of the wall, not completely unaware that Richard was watching them the whole way.

“He's not gonna be back.” Paul chuckled, just as Katya arrived with their drinks, placing them in front of each of them. He informed her of Till's location and she headed away to find him. Richard picked up his whiskey and coke and attempted not to be too put out by that, or take it too personally that Till would rather hang out with _her_ over him when they were _supposed_ to be partying to celebrate a successful job.

“You alright, Reesh?” Schneider asked, waving the neck of his champagne bottle towards him. “You look like someone just told you that Santa doesn't exist.”

“What?” Richard shook his head, feigning surprise. “That's just my face.”

“Hrm.” Schneider hummed, “Gimme a cigarette?”

“Buy your own, fuckface,” Richard said, flicking a beer coaster in his direction.

“I did, and I smoked them.” Schneider nodded, and Olli rolled his eyes, pulling a cigarette out of his own box and placing it in Schneider's mouth.

“Here,” He said, leaning over and lighting it for him. “Smoke that and shut up.”

At that moment, Flake arrived at the table, holding his arms aloft for his triumphant arrival, and a chorus of cheers went up from the others.

“Boys.” He nodded, squeezing past Richard and Paul and plonking himself on the booth seat in the middle of everyone else. “Where's Till?”

“Sabine turned up,” Paul said with a smirk, taking a swig of beer and then following it up with a shot. He caught Katya's eye and he gestured for her to come over.

“Ohhhhh. Well, we won't be seeing him for the rest of the night, then.” Flake smirked.

“I need to take a piss,” Richard said abruptly, stumping out his cigarette in the ashtray and rising to his feet. He slid between Paul and the table and sidestepped Katya, stalking across the bar and heading for the bathroom.

“What's his problem?” He asked generally before ordering a vodka and coke along with several shots of Jagermeister.

“Beats me. Being a moody arsehole as usual.” Paul shrugged, ordering a drink for himself too.

“One of these, too!” Schneider yelled, holding his bottle aloft.

“ _No._ ” Olli mouthed at Katya, “Get him a water, I'll tell him it's vodka.”

“I heard that you prick!”

“Jesus, how many has he had?” Flake asked of the man who was lolling around like he didn't have full control of his limbs.

“Too fucking many.” Olli confirmed, sounding like an exasperated parent.

* * *

Richard had gone into the bathroom unaware that Till had seen him go in there through the lounge doorway. He made his excuses to Sabine and assured her he'd be back in a moment before walking in to find Richard washing his hands, sniffing tellingly.

“And what the fuck is your problem, huh?” Till asked angrily.

Richard straightened himself up and dried his hands, not looking at him. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Making a grunt of frustration, he grabbed Richard's shirt and manhandled him into a cubicle, locking the door behind him. Richard shoved at his broad shoulders, knocking his hands away.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” He hissed, conscious of someone – especially one of the others – walking in.

“Don't lie to me, Reesh. You've been shooting daggers at me since Sabine walked in.” Till said lowly, a note of threat in his voice. “You're behaving like a fucking child. Don't think I noticed that whole thing with Paul just now. What were you trying to do? Make me jealous?” He scoffed.

“Oh, fuck off.” Richard rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “I didn't do _shit_.” He lied. “Maybe that's just your guilty conscience because you ran off with _that slut_ instead of-”

He didn't finish his sentence before Till had him by the collar and shoved him violently up against the cubicle wall.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up before you say something I'll make you regret.” Till ordered, unnervingly calm although clearly simmering with rage at his friend being disrespected in such a way. “You're behaving like a jealous little prick. What, you think you have a monopoly on my time just because we fucked a couple of times?” He asked, tilting his head, calculating his words to make sure that it hurt – and it did. Richard shook his head mutely, and Till looked him dead in the eye. “Me and you, we _fucked_. That's _it_ , and if you can't take that for what it is, if you're going to be a fucking brat every time I have a conversation with someone else, whatever this was? It's _done_.”

Richard's jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes, ignoring the rising tightness in his throat.

“Fine.” He spat back, and Till let him go with a shove before unlocking the door and storming out of the bathroom without saying another word. When he was sure Till was gone, he locked the door once more and pulled the lid down on the toilet before sitting down, taking a deep breath and trying to stop his heart from racing. Miserably, he buried his face in his hands.

What the _fuck_ had he done?

* * *

“Reesh? Hang on a second..” Paul chased after Richard, who he'd spotted making his exit, stalking out of the bar faster than he could keep up. He managed to catch hold of his arm just as he got to the door. He hadn't seen anything that happened just moments before so as far as he was concerned, Richard's behaviour was just plain bizarre, even for him. “What the fuck is up with you?”

Richard yanked his arm away and turned around furiously. He knew he couldn't say anything, couldn't say why he was so angry because that would cause more problems than it solved. “Nothing. It's nothing. I'm just heading home.” He said, with far more anger than the words he was saying deserved. “Too loud in there. It's giving me a headache. You have a good night, yeah?”

“Oh yeah, seems like nothing.” Paul rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Just come back inside and get another drink.”

“I _can't_.” Richard insisted. “You can have a perfectly good night without me anyway. I'm just... done, alright?” He turned around and started heading across the street, leaving Paul behind him completely fucking _baffled_.

He didn't, however, have any time to question it further when a black van suddenly fired up a little way down the street and surged forwards, skidding around the corner and down the street Richard had just started walking along. For a brief second, he thought it could be a coincidence until it screeched to a halt next to Richard and two men in ski masks leapt out, shoving a black bag over his head and dragging him back into the open door on the side of the van.

“Reesh?” Paul shouted, stunned for just a split second before what was happening dawned on him. He yelled and ran towards the van, producing a Glock and firing a couple of rounds in an attempt to shoot out the wheels before it sped away. The bullets ricocheted off the rear door but did nothing to slow the vehicle down. He stopped in the middle of the street, the cold air burning his lungs as he sucked in rapid breaths. “Fuck.” Panicking, he ran back to the bar and hurtled into the lounge to find Till still chatting animatedly with Sabine.

“Till...” He wheezed, pressing his hand against the wall. “Got... a fucking problem.”

Till narrowed his eyes and made his apologies before getting to his feet. “What?” He asked, Paul's distress evident. “What's going on?”

“Reesh set off that way.” He breathlessly gestured towards the street. “Black van stopped. Two guys jumped out and grabbed him. Don't know who they are.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Till growled, banging his fist frustratedly against the wall. As far as he knew, when he'd left Richard he was going back to the others and hopefully drinking their fight out of his system – he hadn't banked on him just _leaving_ , and it dawned on him that maybe he shouldn't have jumped to being so cruel. “Did you get the plate number?”

Paul nodded, his breathing finally returning back to normal. “How much good it'll do, I don't know.”

“It's something. We can at least get Flake to search, see if it connects to anyone we know.” He nodded his head towards the other end of the bar where the others were still drinking like they hated their own livers. “Come on. Let's head out – we can sober those three up when we get back to base.” He said, almost immediately forgetting about Sabine who was still sat waiting for him in the other room.

When they arrived at the table, everyone was far worse for wear than they were when Till had left the table. Olli's eyes were glazed over and he was nodding his head along to the song on the speakers and doing a horrible job at remembering the words, Schneider was virtually horizontal, squashed up in the corner of the booth with his legs draped over Olli's lap and apparently, Flake had attempted to catch up on two hours worth of drinking in the twenty minutes since he'd arrived.

“Yeah, we're going to need more than coffee.” Paul winced as the other three slowly realised they were there.

“Helloooo, gentlemen.” Flake drawled and rested his elbows on the table, then regarded the looks on their faces – even he could see they weren't in the mood for fucking around. “Fucking _hell_. Who died?!”

“It's Richard. Someone's just grabbed him off the street and driven off.” Till frowned. “We need to try and figure out who took him.”

“Sure it wasn't a taxi?” Flake asked, squinting.

“I'm pretty sure taxi drivers don't wear ski masks, you fool.” Paul shook his head.

“Oh, yeah. Shit. That's not good. Best head out.” Flake said, standing up and picking up the bottle of Vodka he'd claimed from behind the bar. His ability to shrug in the face of stressful situations something that absolutely bewildered his fellow gang members. He shuffled around the edge of the table and cuffed the side of a virtually comatose Schneider's head. “Come on, you lousy drunk,” Schneider grunted and batted at his hand uncoordinatedly. “Fuck's sake. Olli, sort him out will you?”

“Since when was he _my_ responsibility?” Olli grumbled, though did as he was told anyway. He grabbed Schneider's arm and pulled it over his shoulder, dragging him to his feet and effectively having to manhandle him out of the bar. “For fuck's sake, how is he so _heavy_?!”

“Dense. Like a black hole.” Flake snickered, following Till and Paul to Till's car parked just up the street – considering Till was the only person even remotely capable of driving, and he wasn't especially sober either.

“Can you three quit fucking around and get in the car?” Till barked angrily over his shoulder.

* * *

“Fucking drive! That little bastard is trying to shoot out the tires!”

Richard groaned, able to hear what was going on around him but apparently not able to move to do anything about it. He suspected the sharp jab to the back of his neck as he was pulled backwards had something to do with that. He felt himself sliding across the floor of the van as it swerved around another corner, limbs seemingly made from lead and his head swimming. This felt familiar, and not in a good way.

“Looks like we got the mouthy one.” He heard a gruff voice say somewhere above him, and someone further away laughed.

“Oh. That's gonna be fun.” He said, the enthusiasm clear in his tone. “How long d'you reckon it'll take to break him?”

“Not long. The ones who make the most noise are usually the ones who take the least amount of time to spill.” Richard felt a boot shove against his back when he tried again to move and his head banged against the floor of the van. “Still always satisfying though. He'll be crying for his mama in seconds, guarantee it.”

“I don't know, man. I've heard those guys are pretty hardcore.” The second voice chided. “You're lucky you didn't get the one with the glasses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for what is to come, my friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge trigger warnings for torture and violence in this chapter.

Flake squinted at the computer screen, the blue glow making his eyes hurt. Till placed a cup of coffee in front of him and squeezed his shoulder, and duly Flake poured a fraction of it into a nearby paper cup and topped the mug up with the vodka he'd brought with him. Till grunted disapprovingly and Flake shot him a withering stare.

“If you want this done, you don't want me to get a premature hangover.” He advised.

They'd given up on trying to sober Schneider up and left him asleep on the couch in the corner, Olli's jacket thrown carelessly over him. His _skills_ wouldn't be required until they knew who had taken Richard and where to find him, anyway, so it was probably more prudent to let him sleep it off. Till walked over to where Paul and Olli were sitting, looking decidedly pensive now they'd had a coffee and a chance to sober up, and pulled up a chair.

“Did he say why he was leaving?” Till asked, selfishly hoping Richard hadn't told Paul the truth.

“No.” He shook his head. “He was clearly pissed off about something. I tried getting him to stay, but...” Paul looked guilty, though Till knew he had no reason to be considering he knew exactly who was to blame for him taking off. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Not really.” Till shrugged. “I think he'd just done too much. You know what he gets like.” He wondered if he looked as guilty as he felt.

“Okay, so has anybody got a list of people we've pissed off lately?” Olli asked genuinely, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Till and Paul laughed. “...Alright, yeah. Bit of a stupid question.” Olli agreed, glancing over at Schneider who probably had a list a mile long just on his own. Hell, the owner of the shop where he picked up a paper in the morning wanted to punch him.

“Yeah, that doesn't really narrow anything down.” Paul glanced between the other two pointedly. “Anyone owe any money we should know about?”

“I don't owe anybody anything,” Till said firmly. He didn't _do_ debt – not even back in the day when he had barely two Deutschemark to rub together.

Their collective gaze turned to Olli, who suddenly looked like he was having an epiphany, which immediately raised their suspicions.

“Oh. Oh, _fuck_.”

Till blinked slowly and chewed his bottom lip. He knew what was coming, and he was bracing himself to get really _fucking_ angry. “What is it?” He asked, calmly. _Too_ calmly.

“I mean it might not be, I could just-”

“ _Olli_.” Paul insisted. “Spit it out. _Now_.”

“I just.. I owe some money from a poker game. About 20k-”

“For _fuck's_ sake, Olli!” Till bellowed before he had a chance to finish, making both Paul and Olli flinch in their seats.

“It was only a week ago!” Olli insisted pleadingly. “As far as I knew they weren't chasing me for the cash! Not yet, anyway.”

“Did they give you any warnings?” Paul asked, really hoping that this wasn't the cause of the kidnap because he wasn't sure he could protect Olli from the shitstorm that was coming his way if it was.

“Nothing, I _swear_. I was just waiting for this job to pay out, then I was gonna pay it back.”

“Who do you owe?” Till asked, his voice back to frightening calmness.

“Karkov.” He said quietly.

“You better fucking hope that it isn't him,” Till advised cooly, rising to his feet and crossing the room to where Flake was sitting.

“Fucking _Karkov?_ ” Paul asked in a hushed, urgent tone. “What were you thinking?!”

“I _know_.” Olli groaned, miserably. “There's not many places that'll let me play these days.”

“Then _stop playing_.” Paul scolded him, “Because if Karkov has Reesh? I don't think any of us can protect you from what's coming.”

Olli winced, looking like he could be on the verge of tears. Rising to his feet, he headed for the door, muttering something about needing a smoke.

“Where's he goin'?” Schneider muttered, voice obscured by the jacket halfway over his face.

“Go back to sleep,” Paul advised him, rubbing at his temples frustratedly.

* * *

When he was pulled from the van, Richard tried to put his feet flat on the floor only for his legs to give out as soon as he did. Whatever they'd injected him with had done a really good job of making sure he couldn't run. He grunted as his knees hit the floor and he felt two pairs of hands pulling him back up roughly, his feet dragging behind him as they carried him along. He was dumped unceremoniously on what he assumed was a metal chair, and his arms were pulled back and tied around the chair behind him, despite his brain furiously urging his dead limbs to resist.

“So what did Bayer say?” One of the men asked, and he felt chains sliding around his ankles and being tethered to the chair legs with the snap of a padlock. Richard tried to move again but only managed to squirm feebly against the restraints.

“Don't kill him until we get the cash.” The second man replied. “Which you have to admit, leaves our options pretty wide open.”

“Fuck, man. I love my job. You set?”

“Yep.”

The bag over his head was lifted and Richard squinted against the light hanging low above his head. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they did it didn't give him many clues as to where he was. He went to ask what in the _fuck_ they thought they were doing, and who the _fuck_ they thought they were messing with, but what came out of his mouth was a series of slurred noises that didn't even remotely resemble real words.

One of the men stepped forwards, ski-mask still on, and Richard realised he was holding a bulky looking digital camera, walking around him as he filmed like he was Steven _fucking_ Spielberg. Richard tried to offer a glare of disgust but it seemed that no part of him could co-operate right then.

“Might have overdone it with the sedative there, pal.” He informed his colleague. “He's not gonna tell us shit in this state.”

“Oh, well.” He shrugged. “Let's just get the video done first, then we can see if he squeals. If he knows what's good for him, he'll sing like a bird real fucking quick.” He nodded at the cameraman. “You recording?”

“I am now.” He said as he pressed the button.

The second man crouched in front of the camera.

“Lindemaaaan.” He sing-songed, offering a cheery wave to the camera. “I gotta ask. What in the fuck were you thinking when you decided to rob a bank on Bayer's turf, mm?” He asked, stepping back to reveal Richard bound to the chair, still trying to force words out of his mouth. “So now, this is happening.” He stepped back and stood behind Richard, carding a hand through his hair before tightening his fist in it and yanking his head backwards sharply, causing him to grunt in pain. The man slid a butterfly knife from his belt and opened it out, dragging the blade along the exposed skin just below his neck, not hard enough to be dangerous but enough to open the skin, leaving a bloody stripe in its wake. Richard grunted through gritted teeth as the blade moved upwards, the blunt side tracing the skin of his face before he felt pressure just underneath his eye. “You give us what you took, or we start taking parts one-by-one, you hear me?” The blade cut into his cheek and it took all he had not to react. He clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of showing how much it hurt. The would-be torturer leaned towards the camera. “The sooner you give us what we're owed, the more likely you'll be to get this one back in one piece. In the meantime, just in case you don't wanna bring the cash to us, we're gonna see if this guy can tell us where you stashed it.” He chuckled. “We're taking bets on how long it'll take. We'll send you an address to bring the cash – I advise you don't take too long about it because-” He laughed. “This bitch ain't gonna last long.”

He returned back to his original position, suddenly lifting the knife and stabbing it brutally into the top of Richard's arm.

Finally, he screamed.

* * *

“We're heading out.” Till walked over with Flake in tow. “Flake knows a guy who'll be able to tell us whether this is to do with the debt. If it's not, we're back to square one.”

“Maybe I should come..” Olli said quietly, raising his hand.

“No, you shouldn't,” Till said sharply, not saying another word as they both left. At least Flake looked somewhat apologetic on the way out. Paul sighed, and got up to mess around on the PC, taking advantage of the narrow sliver of time that Flake wasn't hogging the damn thing.

Feeling like something of a spare part, Olli headed back outside and lit a cigarette, trying to will away the tight knot that had formed in his stomach. If Richard was in danger because he still couldn't get a handle on his habits, he'd never forgive himself and he was sure the others wouldn't either. He leaned on a railing that lined a ramp leading up to the door and sighed, teeth chattering as the cold air skimmed across his skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly. That was one of the problems with being so tall. _Everything_ felt just a little too short.

“The fuck is going on?” Schneider's sleep-addled voice mumbled behind him. “Where is everyone?”

“Gone to find out if I've made a catastrophic fuck up. So that's fun.” Olli said grimly, pulling out his cigarettes and passing Schneider the box.

“Huh?” He said, sounding bewildered. He lit a cigarette and handed the box back before joining Olli on the railing. “What did you fuck up?”

“I owe Karkov some money from a poker game a week or so ago,” Olli admitted reluctantly, fearing yet another ear-bashing.

“Fucking _Karkov_?” Schneider looked aghast and Olli cringed. “Well, clearly you don't value your life as much as I thought if you owe that guy money.”

“There's a chance that his guys took Richard because I owe them money,” Olli said quietly. “And if it is that, and he ends up getting hurt, then..” He shook his head, his expression awed by the sheer magnitude of that possibility. “I'm not sure there's any coming back from that. Paul said as much.”

“Yeah, but Paul's a fucking drama queen,” Schneider said with a shrug, taking a drag of his cigarette, flicking ash onto the floor below.

“About this? I'm not so sure.” Olli said, biting back a slight smirk at the insult despite feeling a little like the apocalypse was looming on the horizon.

“Look, it's pointless panicking until you know for sure. Besides, if it's just a gambling debt if we act fast enough maybe they'll just agree to a straight swap. Reesh for the cash, you know?”

“Schneider. It's _Karkov_.”

“Oh yeah, that's a point.”

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by Paul bursting through the door.

“You two need to get back in here.”

“Smoking,” Schneider said, raising the hand that was holding the cigarette.

“Bring them with you! I don't fucking care!” He shouted, raising his arms as he stomped back off inside.

“Oh, he is in a _fantastic_ mood.” Schneider grumbled and followed him in. Paul was back at the computer, tapping against the table impatiently, muttering curses at the machine. “What's going on?” He asked, leaning over the desk.

“Email just popped up with a link to this site.” He gestured at the screen towards what looked like a Quicktime player window, though the image itself hadn't yet loaded.

“So somebody emailed Flake some porn and we need to see it, why?” Schneider asked with a slight grin.

“Because it's not fucking porn, idiot!” Paul said snippily, “The email said it was an 'update on our mutual friend.'”

“Oh.” Schneider frowned. “Because it's really easy to download videos on this heap of fucking junk.”

“I told Flake to speed up the internet but has he? No.” Paul said grumpily.

“So you can download porn faster.”

“Will you shut the fuck up about porn?!”

Schneider was about to reply when the video player finally managed to load itself to a hundred per cent and Olli tapped both of them on the shoulder.

“Hey, maybe both of you should shut up and hit play.” He said, gesturing at the monitor.

The video started, and the ski-masked gang member came into focus, and the group collectively winced when they realised that they were watching a video ransom note. Richard swayed in his seat, eyes seemingly not able to focus on any one thing, let alone say anything.

“Holy shit, they dosed him up _good_.” Schneider frowned. He'd never seen his friend so passive in such a dangerous situation. If nothing else, Richard was a fighter.

They watched the video play out with increasing horror, reaching a crescendo when the kidnapper suddenly plunged the knife into his arm and it was like Richard's awareness came back just in time to feel it if the way he reacted was anything to go by. Paul gasped, covering his mouth with his hand as the kidnapper cheerily bid them farewell before the video stopped.

“I'm calling Flake.” He picked up the phone and tapped in his mobile number before looking up at Olli. “Looks like you're off the hook, Reidel.”

Olli despised himself for feeling relieved about that.

* * *

“So, Reeshie.” The smaller of his captors stood a little too close, curling his fingers around the handle of the knife that was still buried to the hilt in his arm. “About that job you guys did earlier. Now I know you've probably stashed the cash, and I wanna know where it is.” He said almost sweetly, gently moving the blade just enough to sting.

Richard, who was now much too lucid, rolled his eyes upwards to meet his kidnapper's. “What makes you think I know where it is?” He asked defiantly, making it extremely clear that he had no intention of rolling over. The fact that they'd debated how long it would take for him to crack taken as a personal challenge.

“Because I know all about you assholes. You live in each other's pockets. You think I'm dumb enough to take you at your word?”

“Well.” Richard curled his lip. “I think you're dumb enough for a lot of things.”

Viciously, the kidnapper twisted the blade suddenly, and Richard bit down on his lip and grunted, his mouth filling with blood where his teeth broke the skin.

“The fact that you're trying to provoke me shows that I'm not the dumb one here.” He followed it up with a sharp backhand to his face. Richard bared his reddened teeth and spat the blood that had collected in his mouth at the man, causing him to jump sideways to avoid it.

“Fucking disgusting.” The kidnapper spat, clearly losing his temper. “I don't know where you've been.” He looked towards the larger captor and gestured over his shoulder. “You wanna take over a second? Because I'm gonna have real problems with the whole 'not killing him' thing.”

The second ski-mask nodded and Richard leaned back, peering around his approaching frame.

“Aw, come on. Was it something I said?” He said, offering a bloody, wild-eyed smile.

The larger man ignored him and walked around the back of his chair where he couldn't be seen, grabbing a small metal table and dragging it towards the chair, the sound of its legs scraping across the concrete floor making Richard cringe slightly. The kidnapper glared at him before walking out of sight once more before he came back clutching a ball-peen hammer. Wordlessly, he unlocked Richard's left arm, large hands gripping him tightly by the wrist and slamming his hand down against the table before chaining his arm to that instead.

“Where's the cash?” He asked simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

Richard's adrenaline started to spike, already sensing where this was going – and it was nowhere good. Still, his loyalty was stronger than his sense of self-preservation and he shook his head.

“Have you checked up your arse?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“You're a fucking idiot, kid.” The kidnapper informed him, keeping his hand pinned while he raised the hammer high above his head and smashed it into Richard's hand with overwhelming force. He could feel the bones fracture immediately on contact and he let out a loud, guttural cry of pain.

“You know, this could all be over real quick if you'd just see sense.” The smaller kidnapper called over.

“What,” Richard asked through sharp, gasping breaths. “So you can kill me as soon as I tell you? I'd rather wait right here until my crew finds you and rips your _fucking head off_!” His voice got louder and more furious the longer he spoke.

“Cute. It's cute that you think that's going to happen.” He smirked, politely requesting that his colleague punch him in the face for him, and of course, he obliged. “You know, either you can tell us and this stops now, or you can hold out until Bayer gets here, and then you'll be in a whole world of shit.”

Richard felt his nose swelling immediately, and a slow trickle of blood sliding from his nostril and down his top lip.

“Oh, no. I want to meet him.” Richard's voice was ragged, but still dripping in scorn. “I want to look him in the eye before he gets gutted like a fish and hung from the rafters of this _fucking_ shithole.” He laughed a small, manic laugh. “You have no _idea_ who you're fucking with, do you?” He scowled. “It doesn't matter if you kill me or not, either way, you're already dead. Good luck spending that cash when your brains are all over the fucking walls, dickhead.”

Rolling his eyes, the larger kidnapper swung the hammer again and connected with his wrist, more just to stop his victim from continuing to talk. Richard doubled over and moaned, trying to recoil his entire body away from the pain with little success.

“You fucking-” Another powerful blow and the words died in his throat, tears involuntarily springing to his eyes and a lump forming in his throat, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted right then.

“Where's the cash?” Big guy asked again flatly.

“ _Go fuck yourself_.” He hissed, not lifting his head, and not noticing the pliers the kidnapper had just pulled out of his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake and Till go digging for information on Bayer. Flake has a certain set of skills.

_Fucking Bayer!_ ” Till growled, having just gotten off the phone with Paul, who had provided an illuminating play by play of the video they'd just received. He'd provided them with an address where Bayer's men expected to make the exchange, but it was already known that they weren't likely to be keeping Richard in the same place and they certainly weren't about to give in to the demands and pay any ransom when they could find his location, get him free and then wreak bloody havoc as revenge. Flake had already called one of his contacts and he intended to find him, and use him to find out where they were keeping him, whether the contact wanted to give up the information or not.

“Are you sure you don't just want to give them the cash? I mean, this is going to start a war, potentially.” Flake reasoned, “Bayer isn't the type of man to just let these things lie, Till.”

“Bayer will be lucky to still have a pulse if I get my hands on him. I'd be happy to cut the head off that particular snake.”

“And I understand that, and I know _why_ you want to do that.” He glanced pointedly at Till. “But I'm just saying, maybe stop a couple of steps _before_ mindless violence once in a while, hm?”

“Let's just find this fucking guy.” Till frowned, and Flake silently agreed, travelling about twenty minutes before pulling up outside a dingy looking duplex on the outskirts of an industrial estate. They exited the car and arrived at one of the flats, the front door paint peeling off and the window within it tinged a sickly brown-yellow colour. “Well this place is _lovely_.”

Flake snorted and rapped on the door. There was a minor commotion behind it before a small, skinny man with an oversized hoodie and hollow eyes peered out, safe behind the door's security chain – It was surprising that it had one at all – but he immediately brightened when he realised it was Flake.

“Oh, it's you!” He closed the door and took the chain off before opening it again. “Sorry, I thought you were the cops.”

“Because we look like cops..” Till said sarcastically. 

“You can never be too careful.” The scrawny tweaker pointed a finger. “You could be undercover or some shit, I don't know.”

“You know, you should try some drugs that don't make you paranoid once in a while, Dee,” Flake advised sagely. “Anyway. Need to ask you some questions. Why don't you sit down?” He tapped the kitchen table and immediately regretted it when he found that it was sticky. Grimacing, he wiped his hand off on his jeans. Dee nodded and sat at the kitchen table, and Flake joined him while Till leaned on the kitchen counter, sensing he was about to get really bored, really fast.

“You're still running with Bayer's crew, right?” Flake asked, and Dee immediately looked mildly shifty.

“I mean, I guess I do some work for 'em sometimes.”

“ _Dee._ ” Flake tilted his head. “Don't bullshit a bullshitter, my friend.”

“Look, I didn't realise you wanted to know about _them_ , man. I mean, if it's all the same to you, I kinda like having my genitals in-tact. Have you seen what those guys can do?”

Flake leaned forwards slightly and narrowed his eyes. All of a sudden, Till was interested again. The master was at work. “Have you seen what _I_ can do?”

Dee stuttered, Flake's reputation preceding him once again. “Come on, man...”

“Have you heard anything about their plans on the grapevine? Particularly about their plans for today?”

“Umm..” Dee looked thoughtful. “They said they had to 'solve a problem', something about another gang encroaching on their turf.”

Bingo. Flake's eyes met with Till's for a brief moment. “Did they say where they were solving this problem?”

“No, man,” Dee answered a little too quickly, shaking his head. “That's all I know, I swear.”

Sighing, Flake shook his head and reached into his pocket, quickly holding his hand up when Dee looked like he was about to bolt in case he was about to pull out a gun. Instead, he produced a phone and tapped it for a moment before turning it around, and pushing it across the table. “Who's that, Dee?”

With shaking hands, Dee turned the phone in his hands and he bit his lip, An kindly elderly woman looked back at him, clutching a small terrier type dog and seemingly unaware she was being photographed.

“S'my mum.” He said quietly, and he looked like he was about to cry. Till almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_. “Why've you got a picture of her?”

“To show you that I know where to find her.” He smiled slightly. “Now, I'm sure she's a delightful woman to have spawned such a fine specimen of a human being but...” He fixed Dee with a look that finished his sentence for him. “Now where can I find Bayer? And I mean _right now_. He has something very important to us, and we want it back.”

“Look, I don't know for sure but you've gotta promise me you won't hurt her..” Dee pleaded.

“If you tell me what I want to know, I won't have to hurt anyone.” Flake shrugged.

“Okay, fine... It's one of two places, I guess. They've got their warehouse on the industrial estate here, and then another one on the other side of town. The one here fronts as a food packing place, the other makes dog food or something like that. They'll be at one of them but I don't know which. _Please_ , Flake..” He spoke hurriedly, speaking like his life depended on it – which it did, for all he knew.

“We know where we need to go.” He looked at Till and got a nod in return. “You're a good guy, DeeDee.” Flake grinned and patted his shoulder jovially. Dee let out a strained laugh and nodded his head. He pulled out a small wad of cash and placed it on the table, plucking his phone back out of Dee's hands. “I'd ask you not to spend it on drugs but I feel that's probably pointless.” He said sadly, then cocked his head towards the door. “Let's go. Look after yourself, Dee.”

Once they were out of the flat, Till cackled and shook his head.

“I don't know how you fucking do it. I mean.. you weren't _really_ going to go after his mum, were you?”

“Of course I wasn't!” Flake scoffed as though he'd just been asked the stupidest question in the world. “But _he_ believed that's exactly what I was going to do, and that's the most important part.”

Till let out a roaring laugh and clapped Flake on the back.

“I love you, Flake.” He chortled as he climbed into the car. Pulling out his phone, he awkwardly tapped out a message, trying to navigate the too-small keys of his flip-phone with his too-big thumbs. Since when did phones have to be so fucking _small_ anyway?

_Gt an adrs. be back soon. Need 2 make plan of actn._

On the other side of the city, Paul snorted slightly at the horribly constructed message, then replied before heading out to tell Olli and Schneider that they had work to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang mount a rescue mission to save Reesh before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More violence in this chapter, just FYI.

At some point, the kidnappers had unchained Richard and shoved him onto the floor and despite the impossibility of an escape, he had started to drag himself away in a futile attempt to get the fuck away from the pair of them before they killed him. They knew he posed no risk of escape – which is exactly why they let him go in the first place. He clutched his ruined arm to his chest, using the marginally less injured one to help him crawl away. Blood was dripping from somewhere on his head, maybe _everywhere_ , and was leaving a bright red trail in his wake. He didn't know how long he'd been there, now. They'd leave him alone for a while, but they'd blast music so he couldn't sleep (as if that was even possible) and never left him long before they'd be at him again, beating and yelling at him to give up the location of the cash they wanted to get their hands on. He'd come close many a time, but he'd never given it up - and he was proud of himself for that. 

“Wow.” A new voice spoke. Bayer. “You really took that 'everything except killing' thing literally, huh?”

Richard heard the sound of dress shoes against concrete and tried to move faster, but given the fact that he was shaking so badly he was almost convulsing, there wasn't much increase in his pace.

“You know, your buddies haven't shown up with my money yet.” He taunted, following him slowly. “Guess they must have figured that you're disposable, huh?”

“S'not.. your _fucking_ money.” Richard grunted, pushing the words past a wide split in his lip.

“I suggest you remember who you're fucking talking to,” Bayer said calmly, before lifting his foot and bringing it down hard against the middle of Richard's back. His body immediately collapsed, all of the air rushing out of his lungs as his weight landed on his injured arm. Tutting, Bayer stood over him, reaching inside his coat and retrieving a pistol. “I mean.. this is just tragic at this point. I should just end you now, leave them to find what's left. It won't be much.” He kneeled down, pressing the barrel against the back of Richard's skull. “I'd say that it's a shame this is going to ruin that pretty face of yours, but I think my boys have already done that.” Sighing, he flicked off the safety.

Richard closed his eyes and just waited. It wasn't giving up. Not really. It did seem like the quickest way to put an end to the pain, though. Instead of the sound of a bullet being fired, the next sound he heard was some kind of commotion behind him, indistinct yelling and bullets bouncing off the steel. Bayer muttered angrily and walked away and Richard groaned, steeling himself and trying to will his body to get up and get away but every bit of him just seemed to have stopped functioning. Blackness started edging into his field of vision and the noise started to fade.

* * *

After a swift recon mission, the remaining gang members decided on a plan of action to take the building, consequences of gang war be damned, and get Richard the hell out of there. Paul, Olli and Schneider took the front where the majority of Bayer's men were loitering at the time, while Flake and Till headed around the less occupied side door – Till wasn't exactly speedy with his leg brace - in the hopes that they might find Richard in a side room and be able to sneak him out while the others deal with the bastards who took him in the first place.

The first lone guard outside the door was the first to go, though considering he only got the butt of Schneider's rifle to the side of his head, he was actually quite lucky. The object was to take down as many of them as possible in silence to avoid alerting any further in the building, only of course that wasn't the way it went down, with one of Bayer's walking through the door at the exact moment Olli had picked to choke another out. He let up a loud call to arms and that was when all hell broke loose, a spray of machine-gun fire forcing the three to dive behind the sparse office equipment in the front office that the gang used to give the place an air of legitimacy.

Meanwhile, the sudden cacophony that went up left Till and Flake bewildered.

“I thought they were going in quietly?” Flake's lip curled, opening a door and peering inside in case they had Richard tied up in there. “Should have known those three couldn't do subtle.”

“On the other hand, makes for a good distraction.” Till shrugged, keeping his gun close at hand and making sure Flake stayed behind him while they navigated the corridor that leads out into the main warehouse, bathed in the glow of sickly, flickering neon strip lights.

“God, this place is a shithole. We really need to upgrade our place, you know, we deserve better than these fucking animals.” Flake complained, sliding his finger and thumb under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I'm getting a migraine later. Guarantee it.”

“Priorities in order as usual,” Till smirked, finally finding the large double doors into the warehouse. Carefully, he pushed it open just enough to get the lay of the land. He could hear gunshots and yelling but it was far enough away for it not to be an immediate danger so he finally decided it was safe to push it open, pressing his back against a huge, industrial shelving unit stacked with boxes. It was Flake who finally saw Richard, or at least what was left of him, a dark crumpled heap a few yards away with what, to his horror, looked like blood pooling around his head and soaking into the floor.

“Shit. Till..” He hissed, about to step out and go over to him when Till pushed him back against the shelf and pressed a finger to his lips. He looked confused for just a moment until one of Bayer's men walked around the corner. In one swift motion, Till had his arms around his neck and twisted sharply, the sickening _crunch_ of snapping bone ringing out as he dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.

The sight of Richard made Till's stomach drop, his first thought being that they were already too late to save him. He swallowed the fear and they approached carefully, Till crouching down next to him with a grunt of discomfort.

“Reesh. Hey..” He urged, gingerly grabbing the prone man's shoulders and rolling him onto his back. Even he couldn't bite back a gasp at the sight in front of him, Richard's face nothing short of a bloody mess, one eye swollen shut and a gaping split in his lip, not to mention where his cheek had been cut in the video. If he hadn't known who it was he would have struggled to recognise it as the undeniably handsome face he knew. The face was that much of a shock that the sight of his arm didn't immediately register, bloody, nail-less fingers twisted and bent at odd angles and his entire forearm cast in a hideous dark purple hue.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Flake breathed out, the nails alone enough to have him fighting the urge to throw up. “We need to get him out of here and to a hospital. Right fucking now.”

Richard made a vague choking noise and one eye cracked open. He rolled onto his side and coughed, spitting out the wad of blood that had trickled from the back of his nose and into his throat. Vaguely sensing people around him, he immediately recoiled, semi-conscious and panicked.

“Get the fuck away from me.” He slurred, making a futile attempt at crawling away.

“Reesh, it's me – We're trying to get you out of here.” Till insisted, reaching up and grabbing the top of his arm, forgetting the stab wound under his shirt. Richard cried out and he snapped his hand back immediately, the palm of his hand now slick with a layer of bright red blood. At that moment, Till saw red and nothing else. He handed Flake his gun and demanded “Stay with him. I'll be back.”

“Till, _don't_.” Flake warned, figuring that getting Richard out would be the priority but of course, revenge would come first. When didn't it? Till stalked away towards the fracas at the other end of the warehouse, the clank of his brace when he walked meaning he couldn't particularly move anywhere quietly. Exasperated and quite honestly traumatised, Flake crouched down next to Richard who at that point was curled up and cradling his wrist, sudden consciousness bringing nothing but agony.

"I didn't tell them. I didn't.." Richard chanted, "They tried to get me to, but I didn't." 

"Tell them what?" Flake asked gently. 

"Where to find the money. I didn't tell them, Flake, I _swear_ " 

"I know you didn't, Reesh." He said sadly, though he didn't think any one of them would have blamed him if he had, especially if it meant avoiding the level of violence he'd endured. “Hey, if I help you, can you get up?” He asked, voice calm despite the fear that mingled with the hope that if he was going to ignore his advice, Till would at least give Bayer – or at the very _very_ least his men – what they deserved. Richard nodded and Flake got to his feet, gently pulling Richard up by his good arm (or at least the best one of the two) and hauling it over his shoulder. He locked his arm around his waist and held onto his hand to keep it around him as they slowly inched their way to the door, Richard leaning heavily on his skinny frame because it was the only thing stopping him from collapsing again. “You're doing good,” Flake assured him, faintly aware of blood on his fingers where his hand pressed against his side. He could feel Richard's legs giving way again and he shook him gently. “Hey, come on. Not far to go. Try and keep talking to me, mm?”

“Can't.” He mumbled, his head flopping like every part of him was trying to force him to sleep. His eyelids drooped and he stumbled, his attempts to stay awake confusing his sense of reality. “Flake, they're coming.” He insisted, voice quaking with fear. “Don't let them take me again. _Please_.”

“I promise.” He vowed. “I've got you but you have to stay on your feet, alright? We're going to get out of here.”

“We're not.” He sniffled weakly, shaking his head.

Flake managed to get him into the corridor they'd come through when they came in and it was then he felt safe enough to pause, pushing Richard up against the wall and keeping him pinned there with one hand, the other finding the side of his neck, one of the few places it felt safe to touch without causing pain. “Hey,” He said gently, trying to tilt his head up. “Look at me. I know you're hurt but I need you to keep your shit together for just a minute so I can get us away from these fuckers, alright?”

“Flake.” He mumbled pleadingly, shoulders jerking with a small, painful sob. “I can't do it. I can't-”

“You _can_.” He insisted, lightly pressing his forehead against Richard's. “Please, Reesh. For both of our sakes.”

He sniffed sharply and tried to take a breath, nodding quickly and letting Flake pull him back off of the wall, doing his best to stay on his feet as they negotiated the corridors and found the back door, the frigid weather smacking him in the face like a bucket of water, giving him some much needed but completely unwelcome clarity. He started shivering almost immediately and Flake walked faster, repeatedly checking over his shoulder in case they were being followed.

The car was parked behind a small factory a couple of hundred yards away, but it felt like a hundred miles when having to basically carry someone the entire distance. Flake let out a sigh of relief when they finally found the vehicle, opening the back door and helping Richard inside, who immediately collapsed into the seat, every movement sending sharp, vicious pains throughout his left arm. No amount of shifting around would bring any comfort and now that he had nothing like getting the fuck out of that place to distract him, he couldn't focus on anything but that.

“Where's Till?” Richard groaned, skin shining with a coat of cold sweat.

“He'll be here in a minute.” Flake promised him, with a silent _I hope_ at the end.

* * *

Bayer wasn't hard to find. He was, of course, hiding behind a wall and peeking out to watch his men continue the shootout, God forbid he put himself in harm's way if he could put others in front of him. Till couldn't stand the guy. His crew might have been criminals but at least they had some kind of code – even if it was only with regards to each other. Bayer, on the other hand, would let every single one of his men fall before he even considered putting himself in any kind of danger. Till saw him from across the warehouse and for a guy with a bum leg, he stormed towards him with some speed and a laser-like focus. He didn't even give him time to register his presence before slamming the back of his head with the heavy metal skull that sat on top of his cane, the impact causing Bayer's head to fly forwards and bounce off the wall with an unpleasant crack.

He stumbled backwards towards a shelf, and Till grabbed him by the front of his shirt before he could make any noise that would alert his guys that he was in trouble and, oh boy, was he in some deep shit. Till threw him up against the concrete wall, snatching his gun out of his hand and shoving the barrel under his chin to force the man, who was now bleeding profusely from a gash over his eyebrow, to look at him.

“Should have known I'd find you cowering up a corner.” Till glared murderously. “Never could do your own fucking dirty work. Tell me, was it you tearing out his fingernails or would that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“You needed to be taught a lesson, Till. This wouldn't have happened if you'd have stayed in your own fucking lane.” Bayer said defiantly. “You can put the blame on me all you want, but you know the part you played in all this. You're an old hand here. You can't say you don't know how this works.”

There must have been a hint of recognition in Till's eyes because Bayer smirked lopsidedly, tilting his head.

“Ah, you're just upset that it was the pretty one, huh?” He goaded. “Ah, Till. Always an eye for the pretty ones. I mean, you know people talk, right? It's not like everyone doesn't know you're a f-”

Bayer's words were silenced by the sound of a bullet being fired.

Stepping over his dead body, he ducked down and ran into the room next door, crouching behind a desk with the intent of making sure all of his crew got out there alive. He was many things, but a traitor like Bayer wasn't one of them. Catching sight of Schneider, he signalled for him to let him know how many of Bayer's men were left, and two fingers were held up in response. Till nodded and peered around the desk, making a rough estimate of where they were by the sound of where the bullets were coming from. One of the men, who was hilariously sporting a high-visibility jacket which was probably the absolute worst thing you could wear in a shoot-out, felt safe enough to stand up behind the barricade he was using for protection and Till immediately fired off a shot to try and take him down before he had chance to go back into hiding. The bullet sliced through his neck and his eyes bulged, clutching the wound as he dropped to the floor like a stone.

“ _Brutal._ ” Schneider gawped before offering an impressed thumbs up, taking an opportunity to speak while there was a lull in the gunfire. “About time you showed up.” He smirked. Suddenly, a bullet skimmed over the top of the desk missing his head by mere millimetres. He ducked down, wide-eyed but strangely excited at the same time. "Nice shot, you useless prick!" 

Till, ever the professional, stuck to sign language and informed him of where the remaining gunman was hiding, and Schneider nodded in understanding before crawling to the other end of the table, readying himself to fire. Before long, Bayer's remaining soldier stood to rectify the mistake of missing the first time and sensing that, Schneider popped out from behind the desk and fired his shotgun, the bullet smashing into his chest so hard that he almost flew backwards into the wall.

Everyone remained silent for a moment, the sound of quick breaths and death rattles mingling in the air.

“Everyone good?” Paul asked, sitting behind a receptionists' counter and trying to get his breath back.

“Fucking perfect.” Schneider chuckled, reloading his shotgun.

“Yep.” Till confirmed.

“Uhh... Mostly.” Olli finally answered after a pause.

“What does _that_ mean?” Schneider asked, his face a mask of concern all of a sudden.

“It's nothing. I just got grazed.”

Worried, Schneider ducked down and ran to the desk Olli was hiding behind, still being cautious of any remaining men who might have escaped their notice. Olli was lying flat on his back with one bloody hand pressed against his side.

“Show me,” Schneider demanded, and Olli pulled up his shirt to reveal a bloody stripe running horizontally across the skin between his ribs and his hips. Schneider cringed, but even his cursory medical knowledge reassured him that he really had only been clipped. It might need some stitches but it hadn't penetrated anywhere near deep enough to be dangerous. “Ooh, yeah. That's a fucking graze, alright.” He turned back to Till. “Where's Reesh?”

“I left him with Flake,” He used his cane to push himself back to his feet, satisfied that there were no more survivors. “We can head out that way and see if they're still there. That end was clear so he might have got him to the car.”

“So he's alive at least.” Paul got up, and Schneider helped Olli back to his feet. “How is he?”

Till just fixed him with a look and shook his head.

“Jesus.” He sighed, because that told him all he needed to know.

They all moved back out into the warehouse, but Schneider stopped in his tracks when he realised who he'd just stepped over to get in there.

“Fucking _hell_.” He looked down at Bayer, then back at Till. “You do this?”

Till shrugged.

“ _Fucking hell_.” He repeated, trying to calculate the ramifications of Till effectively slaughtering one of the more notorious crime bosses around. “Well. I can't say I'm sorry to see the back of him.” He shrugged, and everyone started walking again. “I did a couple of jobs for him years back. He's an absolute shithead.”

“That probably wasn't the best idea.” Paul looked pointedly at Till.

“You haven't seen what he's done,” Till said simply.

Those words filled Paul with dread for what he was about to see. Richard and himself weren't exactly the best of friends half the time. Their personalities were undeniably similar and that caused friction more often than not but he wouldn't wish the kind of torture Bayer's crew were known to inflict on anyone, let alone someone in his own crew.

Once they were out of the building and found no sign of Flake or Richard, they walked back towards the cars, only to be met by Flake halfway, looking mildly panicked.

“We need to get him to a hospital.” He said immediately, “He's half-delirious back there.”

Till grimaced slightly. They didn't _do_ hospitals, but Richard's state was way beyond Flake's skills as a self-taught field medic. He dreaded the questions, the insistence on calling the police, but he trusted his own skills when it came to diversion and trusted Richard enough to say absolutely nothing that would reveal the true story of what had gone down.

“Olli, you should go too. Schneider, you go with him. Paul and I will head back."

“Are you not coming?” Schneider asked.

“The police will probably turn up as soon as they see the state of him, and they know my face better than anyone else's here. I'll come in the morning when the fuss has died down.”

“Makes sense.” Flake nodded, then eyed Olli up and down. “What happened to you?”

“Someone got a lucky shot off and skimmed me.” He said, gesturing at his waist.

“You'd be better off taking care of that yourself.” He advised, “We can make as though Reesh got jumped. Bullet wounds on the other hand? Little harder to explain. I hate to be hard-nosed here, but we need to get through this and draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. There's a pile of dead bodies back there and it doesn't take much of a leap to connect us to it between Rich being in that state and you walking into the emergency room with a graze.” Everyone nodded in agreement, trusting Flake to do right by the rest of them when they were still fuelled by adrenaline. “Alright, this is how we do it. Paul, you take Rich to the hospital – Tell him you found him in an alley and assumed he'd been jumped, that way you're not going to be drawn into too much conversation about your involvement. I'll head back with everyone else and get Olli patched up.”

Everyone collectively agreed on that plan of action and Paul bid farewell to the others before climbing into Flake's car, looking over the seat and into the back – which he immediately regretted. Richard's chest rose and fell quickly, shivering as he squirmed around in discomfort. Bayer's men had _truly_ done a number on him and Paul's chest twinged in sympathy.

“Till?” Richard slurred quietly.

“It's Paul. I'm taking you to hospital.” He explained as he pulled out of the car park and started immediately speeding towards the direction of the hospital. “He's going to come in the morning – I'm going to let him know when the Police quit sniffing around.”

“Hospital?” He asked, “I don't want to.”

“You don't have a choice.” Paul insisted, and frowned at the miserable noise the other man made. “You're going to be alright. We just need to get you patched up.” He said, trying to downplay the severity of his injuries just to try and soothe him temporarily until they got to where they were going.

The sniffing sound behind him told him that his tactic hadn't worked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reesh is in hospital, Paul thinks something fishy is going on, and Till is feeling guilty.  
> WARNINGS: Hospitals.

Paul woke up with a slight start, sunlight filtering through the blinds in the single bed room that they'd finally placed Richard in after rushing him into surgery when they'd arrived in the early hours of the day before. He'd spun the nurses a tale of trying to find his friend after a night of drinking, only to find him battered and ditched behind a dumpster. Predictably, the nurses spun the usual line, that the police had to be called due to the nature of Richard's injuries and sure enough they turned up eventually, taking a witness statement from Paul and deciding that they'd return to question Richard when he was in any fit state to deal with it – which by the look of him wouldn't be for a while. Because he wasn't family, the doctors treating him wouldn't divulge anything about the nature of his injuries but given the fact that he had eyes, he could figure out most of it for himself. Now he could see what Bayer had done in the cold light of day, he couldn't say he blamed Till for putting a bullet in the bastard's head.

Richard slept now and only looked marginally better after being cleaned up. His eye and cheek swelled on one side, a large bandage covering several butterfly stitches through his eyebrow, and his bottom lip protruded on the other. Then there was his arm, bandaged from shoulder to fingertips now that his broken digits had been set back in place and they'd done their best to pin everything else back together. They must have had a lot to do because he'd been in theatre for _hours_. Paul had chatted up one of the nurses who had come to check his vitals and had persuaded her to let him sit in with him once they'd got him settled in a bed. She revealed a little of the extent of his injuries and even just that was enough to make him wish he hadn't asked. Most of it was bruising, tissue injuries and lacerations except for his arm, but all those small injuries added up to something that had been bordering on life-threatening.

The heart monitor next to the bed beeped steadily, and confident that for now, he'd be fine, Paul decided to stretch his legs, purchasing a coffee from the cafe downstairs and heading outside to smoke. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he realised he'd had a message while he'd been sleeping.

**_Message from: Till_ **

_How is he?_

Paul let his cigarette hang from the corner of his mouth as he replied.

_Unconscious right now. Not in a good way but safe for the time being. Police took statement but won't be coming back for now if you want to visit?_

He'd seen on Till's face the night before just how worried he was. Although Richard hadn't joined the group until later, the two had grown close in a very short space of time. Apparently, they'd known each other in some capacity some time ago, but they hadn't seen each other in years because Richard had moved away. When he returned to Berlin, he joined the gang. He did question how far that bond went, but then supposed it wasn't his business to know such things, anyway.

_There in five._

Paul looked bewildered by the reply. _In five_? Their base was miles away, and that meant that Till had been waiting nearby for his message for... how long? He didn't have much time to contemplate that when he saw Till crossing the garden area where Paul was sitting cross-legged on a bench, thick-soled boots and cane kicking damp, muddy grass up as he limped towards him.

“How long have you been here?” Paul asked, looking up and offering Till a smoke.

“I needed to run some errands around here anyway, figured I'd hang around until I heard back from you.” He lied. In reality, he'd taken everyone back to base, changed out of his bloody clothes and returned to the hospital parking lot, sleeping fitfully in the back of his car. He'd only just headed out to get a drink when Paul had returned his text. He lit his cigarette and sat down on the bench next to him, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked beyond exhausted, flattened mohawk covered by the hoodie he wore under the long, black jacket he had on but Paul didn't mention it.

“They had him straight into surgery when we got here. I'm guessing that arm needed one hell of a repair job.”

“Did you see the state of it?” Till turned his head to look at him, his eyes a little wild. “They fucking butchered him.”

“I did. And I understand why you did what you did.” He didn't say the words. You never knew who was listening. “I just worry about the hell it's going to bring down on our heads in the future – but that doesn't mean I disagree with it. I hope that fucker rots.”

“Not just him.” Till frowned, rolling the cigarette's filter between his fingers. “I knew that job was a risk, but I thought the reward was worth it, but now?”

“Look, it's not like we didn't _all_ know the risks before we got into this. Before we got into _any_ of this.” Paul insisted, trying to be the voice of reason before Till went into one of his guilt spirals. He'd seen it before and it never ended pretty.

“I thought if there were any consequences to be had they'd come after me, you know? I didn't even consider this and I feel like a fucking idiot for it.” Till rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes tiredly. “I'm not sure Reesh is going to forgive me for this one.”

“That's the trouble, Till. People know you give a shit about us. That's why we all stick around – because you're not Bayer.” Paul said thoughtfully, taking a sip of coffee. “And, what's worse? Letting someone die quick or punishing them by letting them see someone they care about get hurt?” He shook his head. “I'm not so sure you need to worry about that. He was asking for you when I was bringing him here. I think you need to forgive yourself instead of worrying whether he will. He adores you. You know that.” Paul didn't want to sound like he was probing beyond his boundaries but he couldn't help being curious.

Till huffed out a small, mirthless laugh.

“For all the good it's done him.” He groaned, dropping his cigarette on the floor and grinding it down with his boot. “Do you want to head back and get some rest? I'll stay with him for a while.”

“Sure.” Paul shrugged. “How's Olli's little scrape, by the way?”

“He'll live.” Till smirked, “I'm sure Flake has patched him up just fine.”

“So you'd already left before he did?” Paul raised his eyebrow with an air of victoriousness for catching him out. There was no way he'd only just gotten to that side of the city if he'd left before Olli had even got his stitches.

“Alright, you got me.” He looked sheepish, “I just wanted to be here in case anything happened.”

“I get it.” Paul nodded understandingly, squeezing his shoulder before rising to his feet. “He's in room 6D on Ward Twelve. The nurses are pretty nice in there, you shouldn't have a problem getting in. Just tell them you're his brother or something.”

“Oh yeah, I'm sure they'll see the family resemblance immediately.” Till joked. “Thanks for staying with him. I would have, but-”

“Stop.” Paul insisted, holding up his hand. “It's fine. Honestly. Keep me updated, yeah? I can come back later. The others will probably want to come and annoy him at some point, too.”

“I will.” He agreed, pushing himself up on his stick and wincing slightly. Paul had noticed he'd been leaning a little heavier on it when he crossed the grass and figured he must have tweaked it again.

“You going to be alright?” Paul asked.

“Of course. Always.” Till put on a smile that didn't look genuine at all and waved Paul off. Turning, he took a deep breath and stared up at the floor Richard was on, taking a deep breath. He fucking hated hospitals at the best of times, and this was no exception. Giving himself a mental slap and an order to get his shit together, he headed inside.

* * *

Two days passed, and Richard was still out cold. The doctors (who now thought Till was his brother and incredibly didn't question it) had informed him that his body had, in the simplest terms, gone into hibernation to try and heal. There was a chance he'd wake up sooner, but there was an equal chance it could be a while and there was no real way of knowing until he opened his eyes. All they could do was make sure his vitals remained strong and keep him under observation until his body finally decided to wake him up. So, Till stayed, insisting that he didn't want him to be alone when he woke up. Paul kept asking whether he and the others should visit but he put them off, figuring there wasn't much of a point until he was awake, anyway. As a result, he got increasingly concerned messages from Paul and Flake, asking whether he was eating and getting enough rest. In return, he mocked the pair of them for being such mother hens and assured them both that the food from the cafe downstairs was, in fact, perfectly edible.

After so long of sleeping as little as possible in case Richard woke up, ironically when he finally did Till was dead to the world in a chair in the corner of the room, one foot propped up on another chair in front of him. A loud yelp jolted him awake and he opened his eyes to find Richard already attempting to pull out his drip, only to be thwarted by the fact that his fingers were completely swaddled in bandages, and tried to throw himself out of bed in his panic at waking up somewhere unfamiliar.

“Reesh!” He shouted, still half asleep as he dragged himself out of the chair and limped towards the bed, “Stop that, now.” He urged, pulling Richard's hand out of the way because it looked like he was about to try and yank the drip out with his teeth. He tried to gently push him back against the mattress, only to be met with fight-or-flight fuelled resistance.

“ 'Fuck off me.” He snarled through gritted teeth and it was at that point that Till wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pinning him in place before he could hurt himself any more.

“It's me.” He said lowly, close to his ear. “You're safe. You're in the hospital.” Eventually, he stopped struggling and Till felt safe enough to let him go, helping him lay back against the pillows. Carefully, he brushed the sweat-soaked spikes of hair away from his forehead as the other man's chest heaved. “Come on. Take a deep breath, now.” He coaxed gently, and Richard did as he was told, sucking in a long, shuddering breath. “You've been out for a few days. Docs wanted to give you a chance to heal.”

Richard nodded, seemingly rendered incapable of speech for the moment. He was faintly aware of deep, throbbing pain in his left arm and he winced at the memory of _why_ it hurt so much, the simple act of being awake bringing a slow-moving tsunami of pain in his direction. He wished someone would knock him out again before it hit.

“Hurts.” He mumbled, his voice rasping from not being used for days. Till nodded, belatedly realising why Richard hadn't spoken much and offered him a plastic cup of water.

“I know.” He said sympathetically, letting him take the cup and sit up enough to shakily bring it to his mouth and sip at it, grimacing when it touched against the still healing split in his lip. “You drink that, I'm going to let one of the nurses know you're up.”

Richard nodded and Till was gone for mere moments before returning with a nurse in tow, her chirpiness cutting through the thick air of misery in the room.

“So, Mr Schneider..” She began, and Richard shot Till a look. He shook his head slightly and that told him to just go with it. “Can I call you Olli?”

“....Yes?” He said, looking slightly confused.

“You have been in the wars haven't you, Olli?” She smiled sympathetically. “How are you feeling?”

He mulled over a few descriptions in his mind before settling on “Like I've been hit by a truck. Several trucks.”

“Aw.” She pursed her lips. “Well, you'll be happy to know that I've got something to help with the pain that I'm just going to pop into your drip, okay? I'll give you one dose after I've taken your vitals and we can see how you get on, hm?”

“I like you already,” He glanced down at her name badge and smiled sweetly. “Nurse Elke.”

Till rolled his eyes at Richards apparent ability to flirt in any given situation and with a messed up face to boot, and she busied herself taking his blood pressure and checking there was nothing to be concerned about before setting about injecting a dose of morphine into the drip.

“Now, this might make you feel a little bit sleepy but it's perfectly normal.” She advised. “It's best you get as much rest as possible, anyway.” She finished up and collected all the waste to take away with her. “A doctor will be along at some point later to check in on you but for the time being you might as well just relax, hey?”

“Okay. Thanks.” Richard nodded, and she left the room. He turned and looked at Till. “Olli Schneider? Really?”

“Blame Paul.” He laughed. “He panicked and gave you a fake name when you got here last night.”

“Did everyone get out okay?” He asked, a slow warmth creeping into his muscles as the morphine started to do its work, the pain in his arm slowly becoming a little more bearable. “Ah, yeah. That's the good stuff.” He groaned and sank back further into the pillows with a dopey smirk on his face.

“Well. _We_ got out of there okay.” Till shrugged, moving to pull the chair he'd been resting his leg on over to the bed so he could sit down.

“What does that mean?”

“It means Bayer is gone. And about half of his crew.” Till said simply, pouring Richard another drink of water.

“Fucking hell.” His eyes widened a little. “All for little old me? Aw, Till. I'm touched.”

“Shut up.” He chuckled. “What they did was fucking despicable. They deserved everything they got and more.” He frowned guiltily, looking away as he spoke. “We shouldn't have gone onto their turf. I'm afraid my bravado might have gotten the best of me. I didn't expect this to happen, not to you. If I'd had any idea, I'd-”

“Till.” Richard interrupted. “You don't have to do this.”

“You shouldn't have even been out there. Where they could grab you.” He frowned, because even if he wasn't willing to blame him for pissing off Bayer in the first place, he certainly could for the fact that _he_ was the one they took.

“It could have been any one of us. I got the impression they were just waiting for someone, _anyone_ to step out there.” Richard shook his head, not wanting to relive the experience right then, but continuing anyway. “Better me than one of the others.”

“Don't say things like that. It shouldn't have been any of you.” Till insisted. “Look, I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you the other night. How things ended up. I got angry and I didn't handle things well at all.”

Richard shrugged but didn't look at him. It would have been nice if being unconscious for two days had erased the memory of what made him leave that bar in a rage but it hadn't, and it stung. “Well, I'm not going to argue with that.” He picked at the tape holding the thick bandage around his arm. “But... it's done. Let's just leave it at that for now, mm?”

“Rich-”

“ _Till_.” He frowned. “I'm tired, and I'm drugged and it feels like I've been run over by a steamroller. It's the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

“Alright.” Till agreed sheepishly, mentally scolding himself for trying to cram all of his apologies in at once. He wasn't good at _this_. Just sex was simple but relationships – if that's what this was - were a fucking nightmare and he knew he didn't often react as most people did in these situations. His gut instinct when it came to emotional involvement was to push it away as far as possible, so when it came to stumbling into something with someone like Richard who liked to say _exactly_ what he thought _all the time_ , who could get attached so fucking fast because his heart was always hanging from his sleeve, he didn't see any way that it couldn't end in an absolute disaster -though it seemed that in trying to avoid that, he'd managed to get Richard hurt anyway.

“When was the last time you went home?” Richard asked, his eyelids drooping a little as he spoke and his speech getting slower.

“Couple of days ago.” He muttered with a slight shrug.

“Jesus, Till. Will you go and get some sleep and a shower. I bet you stink.” He teased, a slight smirk tugging the corners of his mouth.

“I wanted someone to be here if you woke up.” He said, when he really meant that _he_ wanted to be there if he woke up.

“Well, I appreciate that very much but I'm not sure I'm going to be awake for much longer thanks to this stuff.” He said, looking like he was struggling with staying conscious to the end of the sentence. “Why don't you go home and get some rest? I'm going to need some clothes and stuff – you could always bring them back to me in the morning.”

“Oh, could I? And what did your last manservant die of?” Till asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not doing as he was told.” Richard grinned. Sensing he was on the verge of passing out, he mumbled “G'Night, Till. Go home.” Before dozing off.

Till stood slowly, pulling on his jacket that was hanging from the back of his chair. Leaning over, he kissed the top of Richard's head affectionately before turning to leave.

“Night, Reesh.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard gets some unwelcome news, and Paul ends up on an unwelcome treasure hunt.

Everyone always complained about hospital food, and Richard always thought 'Oh, it couldn't _possibly_ be that bad!' but after several days of consciousness he had come to learn that hospital food was, in fact, every bit as dreadful as people said. His nose wrinkled as he picked at a clearly microwaved lasagne with his fork, hotter than the sun on the outside and just about warm in the middle. As unpleasant as it looked, it was actually one of the nicer things he'd eaten recently. At that point, he was only forcing it down himself because the doctors insisted that his painkillers wouldn't work as well without it, and God did he _need_ those painkillers. He couldn't remember what he was being given by then, and honestly, he didn't care just as long as they kept giving it to him. The worst times were just before his next dose was due and he could feel the damaged limb cramping and electric shooting pains started zipping through his nerves. He was just praying that they'd give him a supply of something when he left or else he'd have to have a quiet word with one of his shadier pharmaceutical contacts to arrange something else. Over the last couple of days, he'd had his arm stuck in every scanner and machine you could imagine and yet nobody had been able to give him any kind of answers when it came to his recovery, just repeated the same line over and over again, that as soon as they could say with some certainty what would happen they would tell him.

He was continuing to nibble at his food now that it was a temperature that wasn't going to give him third-degree burns in his mouth when there was a quiet knock at the door.

“Hallo?” He asked, and one of the doctors he'd seen the day before poked his head around the door. “Oh, hey doctor. Come in.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were eating. I can come back in a moment-”

“No, it's fine. I think I'm done, anyway.” Richard insisted, pushing the plate aside and opting to drink his cup of coffee instead. The doctor nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He couldn't quite read the look on his face but there was something about it that made his stomach clench a little. “Is everything alright?”

“Mr Schneider,” He began, and Richard _still_ couldn't get used to that. “I've been analysing your scan results over the past day or so to assess the extent of your injuries. As you know, we had to effectively pin everything back together from your elbow to your wrist due to the severity of the impact to your arm, as well as repair the bones in your hand. Now, while we can help reconstruct bones in situations like this, there are things that we are unable to repair.”

“So what does that mean?” Richard asked, the sensation in his stomach starting to gnaw.

“From our tests, we can see that there are several vital nerves that have been damaged. Ones that help with movement and dexterity. Whilst they may heal to a point, and your arm overall will hopefully become less painful over time, unfortunately at this stage it's my opinion that there is very little chance you'll regain much more than minimal movement in your hand.”

“Oh.” He said with a gulp and a slight nod, “Well. That's.. That's, um-”

“I really am very sorry that I couldn't bring better news, Mr Schneider.” The doctor was stern but sympathetic, “I'd like to keep you here for another day or so, then we can change your cast and bandages again and provide you with medications and give you support to help manage the pain at home. Do you live alone?”

“Um..” He pondered his living arrangement which involved spending most of his time crashing on the couch back at the base then occasionally returning to the small bedsit he rented in the city, usually when he was too drunk to get much further.

“What I mean is, do you have friends or family around who can help you with things like cooking and other household jobs while you get used to your new circumstances?”

 _New circumstances._ He repeated in his head. He hated the sound of that. It sounded life-changing and he didn't want to acknowledge that yet, even though he knew that's exactly what it was.

“I can work something out. I have some friends who can probably..” He answered quickly. Did he, though? Working together was one thing, but to burden them in that way just felt wrong somehow, even with his closeness to Till, the idea of asking for help felt like too much. “So.. there's a chance it'll feel like this forever?” He asked, staring down at the bulky bandage. “Because even with the painkillers, it still hurts.”

“I'm afraid I can't make any guarantees. We would like to hope that with time and decent pain management it'll improve because the injury right now is very fresh - but the prospects of it being entirely pain-free after its healed as well as it's going to are, I'm sorry to tell you, really quite low. The damage was so extensive that there was a chance initially that we'd have to amputate but of course, we don't do that unless it's completely necessary.”

Richard nodded slightly, actually finding himself wishing they had taken it off if it meant that he didn't have to feel like he did right then.

“I understand that it's a lot to take in. Would you like us to call somebody?” Richard shook his head. “Well, if you're sure and you don't have any more questions, I'll leave you for now and the nurse will be along in just a moment to give you your next dose of painkillers, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” He said, not looking up at the doctor.

“Again, I am sorry that I couldn't bring better news.” He repeated, and exited the room.

Richard sat back in the bed and blinked slowly as the information he'd just been given, and the realities of what that meant, slowly started to sink in. He was, effectively, one-handed which in his particular line of work, as far as he was concerned, meant that he wasn't fit for much. Anxiety twisted in his chest. Aside from his strange, confusing relationship with Till – who had been very clear about his thoughts on the matter back at the bar – his usefulness to the crew had just diminished significantly and there was every chance they'd drop him like a dead weight when they realised just how useless he was.

He didn't want to be on his own again. Couldn't be. He wasn't sure how they felt about him half the time but in the time he'd been with them, they'd become something of a surrogate family to him, gave him a sense of belonging for the first time in years and the thought of losing that was crippling.

“Hallo, Olli!” The nurse said cheerily as ever as she entered the room and Richard was so deep in his thoughts that it made him gasp in surprise. Quickly, he swiped at his eyes and tried to look less morose. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you – just came to give you some more medication. We're going to start you on these tablets now you're off the drip. They'll take a bit longer to work, but just give it twenty minutes and they should work just as well.”

She placed two tablets in a small paper cup and a glass of water in front of him and watched him knock them back so she could confirm he'd taken them in her paperwork.

“Um, it feels weird to ask this, but can you help me get dressed? I'd like to go outside for a cigarette if I can, please.”

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear the cigarette part and agree so you can go out and get some fresh air.” She smiled a little. She knew he was steady enough on his feet to get around the ward now, so she was sure he'd be fine popping outside. “Where are your clothes?”

He gestured to the cupboard next to the bed and she pulled out a black hoodie and some dark khaki coloured track pants – mercifully Till had thought about how easy they'd be to put on when he was packing his essentials up back at the base so it didn't take a whole lot of effort, the only trouble was lifting his arm far enough to get it into his sleeve but he managed it with only a minor amount of pain. He put the pants on over his hospital issue pyjama pants, seeing no need to make the situation any more strange and awkward than it needed to be while the nurse held them as he stepped into them and pulled them up around his waist

He grabbed his wallet and cigarettes from the same table and stuffed them into his pocket before toeing his feet into the already-tied sneakers on the floor. The thought entered his head that he'd never be able to tie his laces again and of all things, _that_ bothered him tremendously. What would he do? Run around asking people to do it for him? He found the idea absolutely humiliating.

“You know we'll be able to give you some specialist help with all this, doing the basics with one hand? Plus with some physical therapy, you don't know what kind of progress you'll make.” She said gently, having sensed his distress from the minute she walked into the room. “All I'm saying is don't take that prognosis as the be-all and end-all. The doctors can give an idea of what will happen but occasionally things can turn out better.”

“Or worse,” Richard said with a frown.

“Just don't give up all hope just yet, is all I'm saying. It is still early days.” She patted him lightly on the shoulder. Oh, here..” She leaned down and picked up a black oversized beanie hat, pulling it over the unruly mess that his hair had become. “It's cold out there, you should keep yourself warm. Do you need me to help you with anything else?”

“I'm good, thanks.” He smiled slightly and waited for her to leave before heading downstairs into the gardens at the front of the hospital. When he'd gone out there he genuinely had intended just to enjoy the three things he felt most vital to his existence; Oxygen, nicotine and caffeine – but the longer he sat on the bench and when the medication finally kicked in, the last place he wanted to go was back into the hospital where all he had to do was sit and contemplate just how fucked he was. He glanced around at the streets surrounding the building and slowly calculated in his head where the nearest of the crew's bars would be from where he was. The closest, by his reckoning, was the snooker hall about half a mile away. He decided against taking a cab, choosing instead to take in the cool air after being trapped in a stuffy hospital for what was at that point near a week. The drugs he'd taken seemed to give everything a slightly fuzzy edge as though his brain wasn't entirely connected to any part of him and he was more floating to his destination than walking. Time seemed to skip and warp around itself until he found himself at the snooker hall, scaling the stairs and entering the dimly lit dive, dozens of worn tables lined up in rows in front of a gaudy neon-lit bar that shone out like an altar presenting him with just what he needed.

He'd forgotten all about his battered face and it took a moment for him to realise quite why the barman looked mildly horrified by his appearance.

“Oh!” The barman said, unable to mask the surprise in his voice when he recognised one of his bosses. He'd heard about what had happened through the chatter of patrons at the bar and hadn't expected him to be on his feet, let alone visiting the snooker hall. “Mr Kruspe! Nice to see you, sir. Can I get you a drink?” The barman knew better than to ask questions that weren't whether someone wanted a drink. People who asked the bosses questions tended to not stick around for long and as intimidating as they were, the wages were damn good.

“You absolutely can, my friend.” He lit a cigarette before leaning awkwardly against the bar,  
gradually realising how many things were made a million times harder when you didn't have the use of both arms. “Double whiskey.”

He hadn't thought to ask if he was allowed to drink with the medication he was on, but at that point, he didn't care enough to find out. The barman placed the drink on a paper napkin in front of him and he swiftly picked up the glass, awkwardly holding the cigarette between his fingers away from his face as he knocked it back in one, large gulp. “Ugh, fuck.” He shuddered, shaking his head, and waved his glass at the barman. “Keep 'em coming.”

The thought crossed the barman's mind that he probably shouldn't keep pouring whiskey for a man who had clearly had seven shades of shit beaten out of him, but as far as his job description went, the only people he could refuse to serve were people who ran out of money and he assumed that included the bosses. He poured another double and handed the glass back, and Richard raised it slightly to him before throwing it down his neck.

“Another?” He asked hesitantly, noticing the way Richard was leaning a little heavier against the bar. He stuck his thumb up and gestured at the glass, and the barman did as he was asked. “Sir, why don't you go and sit at one of the tables over there. I'll come and give you a refill when you want one.”

“That... is actually a good idea. I can see why we hired you.” He agreed with a smirk, picking up his glass and moving to sit down in a seating area between the bar and the closest row of tables. He opted to sip his drink this time because he wasn't a complete asshole who wanted to make the obviously intimidated barman keep having to run over to him every five seconds. Thanks to the medication, the two shots he'd already drank had immediately gone to his head and he could feel himself swaying ever so slightly where he sat. Any time now, the booze would start to make him feel better like it usually did, he was sure of it.

* * *

It was Paul's turn on what was affectionately dubbed 'Reeshwatch' by the gang, over the past few days they'd each taken a turn visiting Richard, bringing him snacks and magazines to try and stop him from going stir crazy before the doctors discharged him and, as far as he knew, it had been going well. He might have been a giant pain in the arse, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for him being couped up in there. He'd come armed with a box of chocolates - He'd given up on grapes after the first day when Richard had decided that throwing them at his friends was preferable to eating them - to make up for the fact that Schneider had brought one the day before and ended up eating half of them on the way there. Well, he suspected Olli had been involved as well but for reasons best known to himself, Schneider had taken the fall for it.

The nurses had gotten used to him and the others by that point, so nobody paid him much attention when he passed by the nurses' station in the middle of all the private rooms. He knocked once and opened the door to Richard's room, pausing with a frown when he realised the bed was empty. Turning around, he walked back to the nurse's station.

“Um.. Have you seen Richard?” He asked the nearest available nurse. “He's not in his room.”

Her face crinkled slightly, walking to the door to check that he had, in fact, disappeared.

“Oh, that is strange. He went outside for a cigarette but that was about an hour ago. I thought he'd come back..” She looked concerned, although Paul couldn't tell if it was for Richard or her job for losing track of a patient.

“I didn't see him outside either,” Paul informed her.

“I'll get security to check the cameras outside. I know what he was wearing.” She said, walking to the phone and speaking quietly to the security guard downstairs. Her eyes kept glancing up at Paul as the conversation continued and her face gradually fell from a hopeful smile into one of worry. She thanked the person on the other end of the phone and hung up. “I'm afraid it looks like Mr Schneider headed out of the hospital grounds about forty minutes ago.” She bit her lip. “I had assumed he'd come back whilst I was seeing to other patients. I wasn't due to check on him for another half hour, I-”

“It's fine.” Paul interrupted because he didn't have time to listen to her apologies right then. She pressed her lips into a thin line and her eyes started to well, and Paul's expression softened slightly. “Truly. I'll head out and see if I can find him.”

“Would you like me to call the police?” She asked Paul, who was already heading out of the door.

“No!” He called over his shoulder. “I'll find him, don't worry!” The last thing anyone needed was the cops to get any more involved than they had been. He cursed and muttered to himself on the way out, pulling his phone out and calling Flake.

 _”What?”_ He answered abruptly, then snickered. “Hallo.”

“Are you alone?” Paul asked urgently.

_“Why? D'you wanna know what I'm wearing?”_

“Flake, stop fucking around. This is an emergency.”

On the other side of town, Flake glanced up at the Olli and Schneider, who at that moment were occupied by changing the plates on a car they'd recently ' _acquired_.', and probably unable to hear him over the godawful music they were blasting. Till was sitting with his feet up on a couch a few metres from them, reading a book.

_“I can talk.”_

“Richard's walked out of the hospital. He went outside for a smoke and just kept walking. Just.. don't say anything to Till for now. I want to try and find him and get him back to the hospital first.”

_“Are you sure I shouldn't tell him? Seems like something he'd want to know.”_

“Give me an hour. If I can't find him, then we'll tell him. He's already kicking his own arse for all of this as it is, I don't think we need to worry him more just yet.”

_”I don't get it. Why would he run off when the hospital has all the good drugs? If I was him I'd be there until they were begging me to leave.”_

“I don't know.” Paul groaned, reaching his car in the parking lot and jumping inside, deciding it best to be able to cover as much ground in as short a space of time as possible. “Something feels off. The nurse isn't allowed to tell me anything so I got nothing out of her but... I don't know. Something isn't right.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, struggling to figure out where to even start looking. His arm might have been messed up but Richard's legs were working just fine and he could have gotten quite a distance in that space of time, even more if he'd taken a cab.

 _“He might just have gotten sick of the place and headed back here, you know?_ Flake said, feeling as though Paul might be panicking a little prematurely.

“Yeah, maybe.” He conceded, but he couldn't shake that little voice in the back of his mind telling him that there could be something else at play. “Hey, how many bars have we got around here?”

 _“Oof. There's a question.”_ He thought for a moment. _“About four?”_

“And what's the nearest one to the hospital?”

 _”It's either the strip club or the snooker hall._ ”

“Right. I'll go to the obvious one first.” He chuckled, starting the car. “Let me know if he shows up there, yeah?”

 _”Right-oh. Speak to you later.”_ He said casually and hung up, noticing Till looking up at him over the top of his book.

Paul looked down at the phone and screwed his nose up at the abrupt end to the call, but shrugged and drove away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to err on the side of caution and warn that there's dubious consent in this chapter, because of intoxication.

Richard sipped at his fifth drink, or maybe it was the sixth, it couldn't be more than that, he was sure. As it turned out, it wasn't the panacea he was hoping for and at that point, he was just drinking for the sake of it with the hope that it might finally turn his brain off. He put his feet up on the chair opposite him and leaned back, staring blankly up at the rafters. He briefly pondered taking a cab back home but the sooner he did that, the sooner he'd have to tell the others what the doctor had told him and in his mind, that just gave him even less time before they realised he was no good to any of them, now.

“Hey, this seat taken?” A voice asked beside him. Richard didn't bother looking up to see who it was.

“Well, my feet are there, so..” He said, with no intention of being sociable.

“Oh, okay. It's just I saw you over there and figured you looked like you could use a little pick me up.”

Richard's curiosity was peaked at that, and he lazily slid his feet off the chair and sat up, offering a seat to the man in front of him, who was curiously wearing a sharp jet black suit and immaculately coiffed hair – a tall, skinny thing, certainly not the typical drug dealer he was expecting. He looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow.

“Now, I really hope looking like that when you said 'pick-me-up' you didn't mean Jesus. You look like you're about to try selling me some bibles.”

“No, no..” He smiled and sat down when Richard invited him to. “I wouldn't be so dumb to bother you with such a thing. It's not like I don't know who you are.”

“Aaaah, here comes the flattery.” He leaned back and smirked. “Look, I'll tell you now I'm interested so you can save the sales patter for someone who gives a shit, mm? Now, tell me what you've got.”

“Keeping it simple. I appreciate that.” He pointed at Richard and reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a small baggie of white powder that was presumed to be coke and sliding it across the table, being subtle about it although it wasn't like anyone really gave much of a shit in that place unless the cops decided to make an impromptu visit.

Richard rolled his eyes at the dealer's somewhat slimy approach and wondered if this shit _ever_ worked. He couldn't deny that he had some kind of reptilian allure, though – or that could have just been the booze and painkillers talking.

“Go ahead and take a sample, seeing as it's you.” The dealer said with a nod and smirked slightly, Richard doing a slight double-take when he thought the man sat opposite winked at him. God, he was _awful_. Which made the fact that his stomach flipped slightly when he did it even more ridiculous.

Richard pulled his bunch of keys out of his pocket and fiddled with one of the keyrings, pulling out a small, thin scoop (yet another thing that was an annoyance to achieve with one hand) that he then dug into the bag, taking on a decent amount of the powder and inhaling it in one sharp snort. After a few moments, the heat started to bloom across his skin and he waited for the rush to hit.

“Good stuff, right? Just got shipped in this week.”

“Mhm.” Richard nodded, not quite looking at the dealer and squinting slightly at the lights and his leg jiggling slightly where he sat, the familiar surge of energy rattling through his bones. It was going to be fleeting and he knew it but at that moment he felt better than he had in days. “How much?

“For that? 120.”

“ _120?_ ” Richard hissed, not quite expecting it to be that much for such a small amount.

“But is it not the best shit you've had in years?” He asked, eyebrow raised and leaning forwards a little.

Richard couldn't really argue with that. Sighing, he wiped his nose and pulled out his wallet, tucking the baggie into a cardholder pocket before counting out the cash and sliding it under the table. The dealer's hand met his in the middle, dragging his fingers across Richard's palm when he took the cash while looking him dead in the eye. He ducked his head slightly and looked away, trying and failing to look like he wasn't into it. This slimy asshole was trying every slimy asshole trick in the book and the fact that it worked was kind of disturbing.

“You wanna head out to the bathroom and get a real bump?”

Richard shrugged and nodded, letting the dealer lead the way to the bathrooms at the back of the hall, needing to steady himself on the table for a moment, his legs and head apparently protesting at the speed he got up. His legs didn't feel quite right as though all the tendons and muscles were wobbling under his weight but he figured it'd work itself out as he followed the dealer into one of the cubicles in the bathroom, the room itself every bit as dingy as the rest of the hall. They'd never really spent much on making it look presentable when most of its patrons wanted to get hammered, play snooker and occasionally hit each other with cues, anyway.

The dealer went into his pocket again and found a small hand mirror, sliding out a razor blade from a compartment on its underside – The man came prepared, and Richard appreciated that – and racking out two generously sized lines. He rolled up a note and took his own first before handing it and the mirror over to Richard, replacing the bag of coke back in his pocket. He snorted it all then tilted his head back, sniffing a couple more times before swiping at his nose to dust away any evidence from his face when they walked back out there.

“I'm telling you, it's the only shit I'll touch these days.” The dealer enthused, moving to stand in front of Richard where he was leaning against the wall. Richard grinned at him slightly and he moved a little closer, pressing his hand to the wall to the side of his shoulder. “Do you want to head back out, or..?”

“What do you think?” Richard asked, almost immediately curling his fists into the man's immaculately pressed shirt and yanking him into a heated, ferocious kiss, letting out a slight grunt of pain when the dealer's mouth collided with the split in his lip. Distantly he thought that he'd probably regret that later. Unperturbed by his discomfort, he reached down and awkwardly attempted to one-handedly unfasten the dealer's belt before gently having his fingers tapped away so he could do it himself. That would have probably bothered him more if his judgement had not been well and truly clouded by that point.

Pants undone, the dealer's hands moved to Richard's hips, dragging the sweatpants to his thighs and pushing his own hips forwards, grinding up against him as he tugged the unbroken side of his bottom lip between his teeth, one hand curved around the side of his throat. “I've got this.” He mumbled confidently, before licking his way back into his mouth.

Richard shuddered a little at the tone of his voice. The dealer was being much too gentle, much too _kind_. It was everything he didn't want right then but physically, spurred on by need over want, he didn't pull away. He wrapped one leg loosely around the dealer's and grabbed a handful of his ass with his good hand, urging him closer. The dealer reluctantly broke the kiss, keeping their foreheads together as he licked his palm and reached down, long slender fingers wrapping around both of their dicks and making one slow stroke downwards. Richard closed his eyes and bit his lip, attempting to stifle the desperate groan that threatened to break free. The dealer pinned him in place, his head thumping back against the cubicle wall. His head dipped, pressing too-soft kisses to Richard's neck before tugging the skin between his teeth, just hard enough to sting. The word _harder_ were mumbled and he obliged, sinking his teeth in with a thrust of his hips and a co-ordinating stroke of his hands, ripping a loud and unrestrained moan out of Richard's chest before he had a chance to stop it.

He grabbed at the dealer's hair, tugging him away from his neck and into another messy, desperate kiss, almost trying to direct his mouth towards the damaged part of his lip, needing his pain to redirect his attention away from the way his left arm was hooked uselessly around the dealer's waist. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus on release, blocking out every other bad thought in his head but he just couldn't quite manage it. Suddenly, an urge overtook him and he swung his injured arm back with some force, making it collide sharply with the toilet roll holder bolted to the wall. Despite the layers of protection, the shock of the blow sent an agonising shot of pain down his arm and he let out a loud whine, somewhere between relief and agony.

“Holy shit, are you alright?” The dealer leaned back with a look of actual concern which Richard _hated_.

“Fine. Don't stop.” He ordered, and the dealer obliged, kissing him roughly and letting his hand speed up, quickly joined by Richard's, guiding his strokes until his hips started to stutter and jerk against him. There was a flurry of groans into breathless kisses as the dealer came first, coating his fingers and adding a layer of friction that dragged Richard along soon after, shuddering on weak legs and burying his face in the dealer's neck, the hand against his chest pinning him to the wall one of the few things keeping him up. He panted into his collar for a few moments before forcing himself back against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. The dealer pulled away from him and pulled out some of the tissue, wiping his own hands before unexpectedly taking more and pulling Richard's arm by the wrist and wiping them down, too. Richard opened his eyes and looked at him curiously before taking some tissue himself to clean himself up and pull up his pants.

“Do you need a hand?” The dealer offered, and Richard shook his head, feeling slightly weirded out by the niceness considering it was a coke-fuelled bathroom quickie.

“Why are you being so pleasant, anyway?” He asked, straightening his hoodie and putting his hands in the large front pocket, that was just wide enough to accommodate his bandage.

“Are people in my line of work not allowed to find people attractive?” He asked, tidying himself up and fastening his pants, shooting Richard a lopsided smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Besides. Looked like you might have needed the diversion... You know. After everything.”

The pity again. It made his stomach twist in disgust. “Fuck's sake, does _everybody_ know?!”

“People talk. Your boys made quite the mess of Bayer's crew from what I hear. Something like that doesn't stay on the down-low for long.”

“And there was me thinking you were just trying to get me to buy more blow when my defences were down.” He said, but no. Just pity.

“Something tells me if I wanted to do that, I could have just offered.” He joked, pulling his wallet out and finding his business card. He slid it into Richard's hoodie pocket and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “Just in case you ever need another diversion.” He smirked, before pulling away and exiting the cubicle. Richard stood and stared at the door for a moment, a look of confusion on his face.

Admittedly, he had really wanted a diversion, but suddenly had the feeling that he'd just made everything even more complicated. The post-orgasmic glow was dwindling and all of a sudden everything seemed just a little too clear. A little too in focus. An uncomfortable feeling of shame made his stomach hurt and an unpleasant heat creep slowly up his back. He wasn't even sure if it counted as cheating but the guilt he felt seemed indifferent to that. He sucked in a deep breath, finally letting himself slide down the wall before he shakily lit a cigarette. Now the euphoria had gone his bandaged arm started to throb and pulse as though it wanted to burst out of it's wrapping. He grunted softly, letting it rest limply on his lap as the pain washed over him, feeling himself deserving of the instant karma. He closed his eyes against tears that were starting to form in them, and pressed his lips into a tight, thin line, mentally ordering himself to stop being such a fucking bitch and take the punishment like a man.

The door leading from the bar into the bathroom swung open and made Richard start slightly. He kicked a leg out and shut the cubicle door, holding it closed with his foot.

“Someone's in here.” He said, waiting for them to either use the next one over or leave.

“Reesh?”

He cringed at the sound of Paul's voice. He didn't want to deal with any of them right then, didn't want to tell any of them the truth. He remained silent and hoped Paul hadn't recognised his voice and would go away.

“I know you're in there,” Paul said simply. “I've been driving around town like an idiot looking for you so don't fuck me around.”

Sighing, he put his foot down and wiggled the door to show that it was unlocked, saying nothing the entire time. Paul rolled his eyes and opened the door, folding his arms at the sight of Richard sitting on the floor.

“You're probably sat in twenty different people's piss down there, you know?” He raised an eyebrow and held his hand out. “Come on. Get your arse up.”

Reluctantly, he placed his cigarette in his mouth and let Paul help him up, glancing over his shoulder and grimacing slightly at the dampness he'd only noticed once he'd got up on the back of his pants. He didn't mention it because he was in no mood for any of Paul's ' _I-told-you-so's_.

Once he could see him in the light, Paul's eyes widened at the sight of Richard's face. Sweaty and ghost white, bruises emphasised by the dark rings around his reddened eyes.

“Jesus, man. You look like utter shit.” He said bluntly.

“Well, thanks for that..” Richard sulked.

“No, I mean... you don't look _well_.” He corrected himself. “The barman told me you came in here with someone. Who was it?”

The barman. That absolute _fucking_ traitor.

“Nobody you need to worry yourself about!” Richard said defensively, pushing past Paul and washing his hand in the grubby sink, wondering if it even counted as washing them in something that dirty. He grabbed a paper towel and dried it as best he could before Paul grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him, becoming irritated.

“Who _was_ it?” He asked again, keeping him pinned against the sink.

“It was _fucking nobody._ ” Richard argued, but before he could say any more, Paul's hands were in his pockets, rummaging around until he found his wallet. He pulled it out sharply and stepped back, holding it away from him. “Give that back, you fucker!” He shouted while Paul rooted through its contents. “Come on, for fuck's sake..”

Paul found what he was looking for and produced the bag of coke he'd just bought.

“And?!” Richard held his hands up. “Tell me how that is any of your business!”

“With the medication they've got you on?” Paul said, shoving the wallet back into his pocket but keeping hold of the coke. “The rest of us are over here trying to keep your stupid arse alive, for God's sake. Are you _trying_ to kill yourself, or are you just a fucking idiot?”

Richard thought _both_ but instead said nothing, a huff of air escaping his nose and choosing to fix his gaze to the floor. Slowly, Paul stepped closer to him, keeping his hands at his sides.

“Look, you're going to have to enlighten me here, Reesh because I'm at a loss. You were fine when we left yesterday. What's happened?”

He shook his head and kept his lips clamped together. If he told him, then he'd know. Then he'd tell Till and then _everyone_ would know how useless he was.

“Reesh, please. Maybe I can help..” He offered, although how equipped he was to help with most things he thought was debatable.

“You _can't_ fucking help!” The words finally burst out of Richard and he threw his hand up, turning to face Paul. “You can't help, they can't help, nobody can fucking help. It's fucking _done_.”

“What is?” Paul looked baffled, then frustrated. “Look, I'm an idiot, I know, so spell it out for me, Reesh.”

“This.” He gestured at his arm angrily. “The whole thing's fucked, according to the doctor. My hand doesn't work at all and it apparently isn't likely to start again any time soon.” He sighed, slumping back against the counter that held the sinks. “So if you thought I was a useless piece of shit before, wait until you get a load of me now!” He laughed, except it wasn't funny, and he quickly realised he wasn't laughing at all. He covered his mouth with his hand and his shoulders jerked slightly, having learned years ago to cry in silence in case someone heard and decided to give him something more to cry about.

For a moment, Paul looked at him dumbfounded, not usually put in this kind of situation and especially not with Richard. He supposed he must have been in a bit of a bad way to lose it like that in front of him, of all people. “Hey,” He finally said, stepping in front of him and pulling him into a hug. As it turned out, he'd made the right move because Richard's face fell to his shoulder and he slumped against him. “I'm sorry.” He murmured against his ear. “You're not useless, alright?”

“I am,” he replied tearfully, shaking his head. “You guys aren't going to have any need for me like this and I don't want to be on my own. I _can't_ be on my own again. I-”

His fist tightened in Paul's sweater and a loud, unexpected sob burst out of him, making Paul's chest hurt in sympathy. For all their arguing and backbiting, he hated seeing Richard so utterly broken like this and it was surprising to the point of being a little stinging that he genuinely thought they'd abandon him because of his disability. He rubbed his back gently and let him cry into his shirt, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You won't be on your own.” He assured him. “I promise, you won't. We can figure it out as we go. You're not as unimportant as you think you are, you know?”

This of course only made him cry more because he knew out of everyone, Paul actually meant it. If he really thought Richard was a useless piece of shit he would have said so with no hesitation whatsoever.

“Now, are you going to let me take you back to the hospital?” He asked, sliding the coke into his back pocket. Richard nodded and slowly lifted his head, pulling himself upright. Paul stepped into the cubicle and grabbed some toilet roll, offering it over. “Here, sort yourself out if I've got to be seen in public with you.” He said with a slight smile and he felt a slight twinge of relief when he returned it. Richard wiped his face and blew his nose, tried to make himself look as normal as possible. Paul stepped forward and straightened his hat. “You'll do, I suppose.” He tugged at his sleeve. “Come on. Stop making me hang around in shitty bathrooms.”

Richard smirked and followed him out into the snooker hall.

* * *

Back at the hospital, the nurse who'd 'lost' Richard was a picture of relief when Paul returned with him in tow. She ushered him back into his room and Paul went to sit in the waiting room whilst she helped him back into bed and did all her necessary checks. He reluctantly admitted to taking coke while he'd been gone but she mercifully wasn't too judgemental about it, offering platitudes about how she didn't condone it but _had_ just received some bad news, so she understood at least, saying that it was better she knew so she didn't give him any painkillers that would react badly with it until at least the next day. She offered him a paper cup of tablets that would at least tide him over until morning.

Meanwhile, in the waiting room, Paul sipped at a coffee and texted Flake.

_**Got him back to the hospital. Not in a good way mentally, but he'll live.** _

_You did good, I was about to tell Till. I'm guessing we can keep this between ourselves for now seeing as he's safe. Why mentally?_

_**Arm's fucked. Completely fucked. Freaked out thinking we'd boot him from the crew and decided to go on a bender.** _

_Fucking idiot._

_**That's what I said!** _

_He really hasn't figured out that this is Till's island of misfit toys yet, has he?_

Paul chuckled at that, glancing out of the window to see if the rain had stopped yet. He'd take Richard out for a cigarette under supervision when it had, just to make sure the arsehole didn't attempt to run off and stick half a coke shipment up his nose again.

_**Apparently not. Might do him good to have some visitors later, though? Bring snacks and tell Schneider to keep his grubby mitts out of them.** _

_Heard on the first bit, but I'm not taking any responsibility for where Schneider sticks his grubby body parts._

Paul snickered, sticking his phone in his pocket and heading back out to Richard's room, pushing the door open slowly.

“Did you get told off?” He asked, poking his head around the door.

“Nah.” He smiled tiredly. “I'm just not allowed any good painkillers until tomorrow.”

“Well, that serves you right for being an idiot.” He advised him, patting his side. “Shift over.”

Richard grumbled, but shifted over anyway, the wide bed giving ample room for Paul to squeeze himself onto the bed next to him. Richard rested his head on his shoulder as soon as he got settled, figuring if he was going to make himself comfortable there he was going to have to accept being used as a cushion.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for a smoke?” He asked, sipping at his drink.

“Not right now,” Richard said quietly, and Paul looked surprised because Richard _never_ didn't want a cigarette. “Are you staying for a while?”

“If you want me to.” Paul said, “The others might stop by later, too.”

“That'd be nice,” Richard mumbled, picking at his bandages before Paul reached over and pulled his hand away, making him huff slightly. “I'm sorry about before.” He said quietly because he rarely apologised for anything and he was half hoping Paul didn't hear so he didn't make a big deal about it. “I'm just not good at... dealing with things. With anything. I just needed to not think about it for a while.”

“So locking yourself in a bathroom with that slinky looking dealer was the answer, was it?”

“He wasn't slinky looking!”

“Yes, he was. He was leaving as I came in. The barman told me who he was.”

“That _fucking_ barman!” He groaned. “I thought they were supposed to be the soul of discretion! I want that guy sacked.”

“Funny, that. Because I'm going to give him a raise.” Paul smirked against his cup.

“Why on _earth_ would you do that?” Richard asked, horrified.

“Because he helped get me to you before you did something even _more_ fucking stupid, didn't he?” Paul turned his head to look at him, fully unwilling to accept any more bullshit. Richard said nothing, but he felt a slight nod of his head against his arm. Sighing, he moved his arm and wrapped it around Richard's shoulder, letting him lean against his side. “Next time you feel like that, if there _is_ a next time, would you come and find me or something? Fuck, any one of us instead of just... dealing with it the way you deal with it. I know we fight like cat and dog but I hate seeing you like this.”

“I didn't think I could,” Richard admitted quietly. “I figured, the sooner you all knew, the sooner you'd want rid of me.” A tear slid down the bridge of his nose and he hiccuped slightly. “Because that's what happens. As soon as people find out I've got nothing to give them, they leave.” He rubbed at his eye with his wrist. “They _always_ fucking leave.” He sniffed again, and his shoulders shook slightly. “When I met you guys it actually felt like I belonged somewhere, you know? For once. I just couldn't handle the thought of losing that.”

Frowning, Paul hugged Richard tighter. They hadn't really discussed his past, they weren't quite at that level yet, but from what little he could glean, he knew it hadn't been good. It was something else he had in common with the rest of them. He couldn't fit better in the group if he tried - if only Paul could get him to understand that.

“There was never any danger of that,” He assured him. “Nobody wants you gone. I mean, god knows why because you're a gigantic arsehole, but we all sort of like having you around.”

“Sort of.” Richard laughed quietly.

“Like, ninety-five per cent of the time at least.”

“Oh, that's not a bad percentage, I'll take that.” He smirked, then sighed. “I'm sorry for being a dickhead.”

“Stop apologising, you dickhead.” Paul giggled, the tiredness finally getting to him and making him find almost everything funny. “You should get some rest before the others get here. You know how exhausting they are.”

“Mhm.” Richard, nodding his head and apparently getting comfortable instead of moving to a position where Paul could escape to smoke on his own. “Even more exhausting than you.” Richard murmured, and he could tell he was falling asleep because he sounded half drunk.

The next thing he knew, Paul was trapped by a snoring idiot with a busted arm and he was staring up at the smoke detector above the ceiling and wondering if he could get away with a sneaky cigarette without setting them off.

“Right,” Paul said, drumming his fingers against his cup. “I guess I'll just wait here, then.” 

* * *

The rest of the gang let themselves into Richard's room a few hours later, going in two at a time to evade the nurses' who would enforce the 'two at a time' rule for visitors and giggling quietly at the sight of Paul and Richard snuggled together on the bed, both fast asleep. Schneider pulled his phone out of his pocket, some new-fangled 'smartphone' he'd bought from someone off the back of a lorry, and took a picture, deciding he might need to use it as blackmail at some point in the future.

He crept over to Paul and shook his shoulder suddenly, shouting “ _Open up! It's the cops!_ ”, making him wake up with a jolt, which then woke up Richard who looked decidedly unimpressed.

“You fucking dick,” Olli said, but still laughed, perching on the window ledge and waving. “Hallo, boys.”

“He's right,” Richard sat up, tilting his neck to try and crack the kink in it out. “You are a fucking dick.”

“Yeah, but I'm a fucking dick who brought you burgers and fries, so maybe you should shut your mouth.” He smirked, offering Richard a polystyrene box containing the food, wrapped in paper before walking around the room and handing everyone else what they'd ordered... and he'd paid for.

“They are going to be so mad you brought this in here,” Paul warned but dug into his box of fried chicken all the same.

“It's dinner time. The whole place stinks of food, anyway.” Flake shrugged, stealing the one comfortable chair in the room for himself.

“Yeah, but this smells like good food.” He pointed at his dinner. “They're going to spot it right away!”

“Oh my god..” Richard groaned, sniffing the box and sinking back against the mattress happily at the scent of the first truly edible thing he'd smelled in days. Flipping open the lid, he threw a couple of chips into his mouth and groaned. “You're actually the fucking best.” He enthused, taking a bite out of the burger.

“Yeah, you're alright too I suppose.” He shrugged, walking over to sit next to Olli by the window with his food.

“And,” Till walked over to the bed, placing a cup of coffee next to Richard. “Guessed you wouldn't be allowed a beer so I figured you might want this instead.”

“Mmmf.” Richard nodded approvingly with a mouthful of food, offering a thumbs up. Finally, he swallowed. “You brought beer too though, right?”

“I did, but I'm saving yours until you get out of here instead of letting you pour it on top of everything else you've got in you,” Till said, opening the shopping bag he was holding and handing out a beer to everyone except him. “You've spent enough time lounging around in the hospital, we need you back.” He gestured between Olli and Schneider. “Because these two? Fucking useless.” He joked.

“Well, that's just fucking rude.” Olli shook his head, using a keyring bottle opener to open his drink.

“It is. Especially when I just bought you dinner.” Schneider agreed, snatching Olli's keys out of his hands to do the same.

“Yeah, well. You're going to struggle to find jobs for me..” Richard said quietly, picking at his food.

“We know what the doctor said,” Flake interjected, taking Olli's keys from Schneider.

“Really? Did nobody else bring a bottle opener?” Olli asked.

“Shut up, Olli,” Flake said. “Anyway. We know what he said, and we'll figure it out. I'm not out in the field much and they always find shit for me to do, so don't worry about it eh?”

“Yeah?” Richard asked cautiously, looking between Flake and Till.

“You really think you'd be able to shake us off that easily?” Till asked, squeezing Richard's shoulder. “We are _ein kollectiv_. It'll take more than a bum arm for us to kick you out, trust me.”

“It's true.” Flake agreed. “Schneider's eye didn't work before he even started with us.”

“Hey!” Schneider frowned, smacking Flake's arm.

“...And what I was _going_ to say, if you'd let me fucking finish _Schneider_ -” He peered at him over his glasses. “Is that his eye doesn't work and he's still the best fucking getaway driver this side of the country.”

“Aw.” Schneider looked down, looking a little guilty. “Thanks, Flake. I take it back.”

“You're going to take a smack back, are you?” Flake smirked, reaching over and flicking the side of his head. “You're an incredible driver, but you're still a fucking arsehole.”

“I'll take that.” Schneider shrugged, munching on a fry.

“Anyway.” Flake continued, turning back to Richard. “Every single one of us is a little bit... broken. Point is, it doesn't matter. Because we stick together and we get around it.”

“So you can stop worrying, mm?” Till said to Richard, squeezing his shoulder again lightly. Richard nodded and smiled slightly, and he continued. “I'd like to propose a toast.” He said, raising his beer. “To getting Reesh out of here, because frankly, you're all fucking terrible at making coffee and he's the only one who gets it even half right.”

A mixed murmur of chuckles and noises of agreement went up as everyone raised their glasses, and Richard lifted his cup of coffee, smiling genuinely for the first time in a long time. It wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but it was _something_ , and for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened and we all let it happen. Well, *I* let it happen because I'm the worst. I know there's still some loose ends dangling but I might well cover them in another little flashback at some point along the line.


End file.
